


All I Want

by kellyn1604



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, D/S type relationship, F/M, Mutual Pining, Older man/ younger woman, Oral Sex, Professor! Steve, Spanking, explicit smut in future chapters, mild edging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2020-10-20 04:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellyn1604/pseuds/kellyn1604
Summary: Professor! Steve Rogers sees a lot of potential in a new student. One that he would like to explore, but professional and societal expectations have ways of keeping us from what we want. Inspired by the movie Secretary.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this will be 2-3 parts-ish. There is a certain movie I’ve been watching on repeat and I want to see if y’all can recognize which one heavily influenced this story. Lol. Let me know if you like it and if you want more. This isn’t canon compliant…kind of canon adjacent.

Your feet hit the pavement in a steady pattern, a little splash accenting every few steps from the rain that had fallen overnight. You glanced at the silver watch on your wrist and quickened your pace. Although the private university was small and you only had a block or two to walk, you still found yourself having difficulty making it in the time you had allotted. It would not do to be late to class on the first day.

A hurried “thank you” rushed from your lips to the boy who held the door open for you. You broke into a jog, hugging your messenger bag to your hip, to keep it from bouncing and bruising you. You reached the door of your classroom with one minute to spare.

Entering the classroom, every head turned towards you. Your heart stopped. Apparently, being on time was not going to be good enough.

“Nice of you to join us. Take a seat,” the professor said, disdain dripping from his lips.

Spotting your roommate, you moved to take the seat in the back row next to her so you could die of shame appropriately. At least she had saved you a place. Thank goodness for small mercies.

“No.” The deep voice stopped you. “Front and center.”

You saw the empty desk in the front row. It might as well have been a gallows. Staring at the floor, you felt the heat spreading across your face, the few feet to the desk felt like miles. If only you would suddenly appear naked, you would at least know this humiliation was a dream.

But no, your clothes stayed stubbornly put. This wasn’t a dream. You glanced up to see the blue eyes of Steve Rogers bearing down on you, brows furrowed as he moved from behind his desk. He looked so different in a pressed white shirt and black slacks. Much less a superhero without the stars and stripes but so much more than a mortal. And now the most beautiful man you had ever seen was glaring at you. This was a living nightmare.

“I’m passing around a seating chart. Write your name in the appropriate spot. This is your seat for the rest of the semester. I will take attendance using this chart. Three missed classes, and I will drop you from the course.”

When you selected courses for the year, you had been so excited to take this class. American History 101 taught by Captain America himself. It was one of the reasons you had chosen this institution. Everyone tried to get into his classes. You couldn’t believe you had made the cut. You needed this class and the next one he taught to fulfill your history credits. And now you were stuck, in the front row, with a teacher that already hated you for an entire year. You would just have to prove yourself. Show him you were an excellent student and earn his respect.

“I assume everyone printed out the syllabus that was emailed to you. I want to go over some expectations before we begin the lecture.”

You glanced to your right and left. Everyone was pulling out papers from binders. You took out the notebook in your bag with a small sigh and settled it in front of you. A shadow fell over the lined pages before he came into view. A small stack of paper stapled at the top was thrust under your nose. Tilting your head back, your heart sunk at the disapproval etched on your professor’s face. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He turned and started pacing the front of the room. “First thing to know in my class, if you are on time, you are late. Second, I expect everyone to come prepared every day.”

You steadied your breathing, focusing on the black print in front of you. You could cry later if you needed to, but not here.

***********

Steve knew the moment she walked in she’d be trouble. Cutting it so close to the beginning of class time. The doe-eyed way she’d noticed everyone’s gaze on her, searching for a familiar face or a seat in the back to seek refuge in. Looking so lost. He should have let it go, let her hide out of his sight for the rest of the semester, but he didn’t. He could always spot potential. Someone who could be molded into so much more. In that moment, the temptation was too great to resist. He wanted her where he could see her. Why did it have to be a student?

By the end of the class, he’d told himself to keep his distance from her. He caught glimpses of her as he lectured, tapping her toes, chewing on her pencil. Wound up so tight. So in need of release and a guiding hand to show her how. He shook his head. He never succumbed to his desires and prided himself on his self-control. All he needed to do was treat her with the same coolness he treated the others. She would rail against him, feeling nothing but contempt and looking back on him someday as the professor that treated her harshly. And wasn’t it better that way?

***********

Days quickly became a massive blur between classes, studying, and work. You had managed to find a part-time job at the local grocery store unloading the early morning trucks and stocking shelves on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays while working the registers the other days of the week. This meant little to no sleep but isn’t that what college life entailed anyways; burning the candle from both ends? Maybe they meant more partying and fewer responsibilities, but when were you supposed to fit in a kegger?

Your roommate, Heather, didn’t seem to have any trouble balancing school and fun. She spent far more time socializing than you did working. You didn’t know how she was surviving. It always seemed she was collapsing into bed about the time you headed out to work. You never saw her study, but she didn’t seem stressed whereas your nails were bitten to the quick.

All your hard work was going to pay off. You were sure of it because it had to. You were maintaining good grades in most of your classes. The only concern you had was history. Professor Rogers didn’t have many assignments or tests throughout the semester. Just 4 papers and a final. You’d worked hard on the first paper. Spending so much time in the library. Typing and retyping. You felt fairly confident and hoped it would smooth over any lingering annoyance he might still have. Although you’d been early, prepared, and completed all the readings, he still seemed cold. Not that he was overly friendly with the other students, but he occasionally cracked a smile or even a joke with them. Never with you.

The day he handed back the papers, you sat in your seat. Zach, the boy diagonally behind you said “hi” like he always did, asking about your weekend. His dimpled smile and dark brown eyes almost gave you something to look forward to in these classes. 

But the weight of the paper made it difficult to breathe let alone converse. Your heart and lungs felt constricted in your chest. You prayed for an A, hoped for a good solid B, and tried not to think of anything below that. Anything lower would make it hard to bring your average up by the end of the semester. Having to be perfect had never been your strong suit.

Finally, he passed them back. A red curved C was at the top of yours. You flipped through the pages. No other notes or markings were in the margins. What had you done wrong?

Heather walked from her safe seat in the back, up the isles to yours. “Bam!” she said, slamming her red A on your desk. “How did you do?”

“Not so good,” you whispered. “You go on ahead. I’m gonna talk to him about my grade.”

“Ok. I can wait for you outside if you want.” She shoved her paper in her backpack, crinkling as it met with resistance. 

You shook your head. How had she done so much better than you? She wrote it the night before it was due. You had to show her how to format her sources properly. Jealousy rose from your stomach, coating everything until all you could taste was your own bitterness.

Professor Rogers was gathering the last few remaining items, placing them in his leather satchel with care. It was now or never.

“Excuse me, um, Professor?” You stood at the desk, waiting for him to acknowledge you.

His blue eyes met yours. He straightened in his chair, leaning back, his elbows resting on the arms as his fingers interlaced before him. As it occasionally happened while he lectured, your mind drifted off marveling at his chiseled physique, wondering how many Nazis he killed with those hands. Long fingers wrapped around throats, curled into fists breaking jaws, pulling triggers. Your name on his lips roused you. “What did you need?” he asked.

“Sorry, sir. I was just wondering if I could ask you about my grade?” You placed your work on the desk.

He glanced at it briefly, his eyes coming back to you. “What about your grade?”

You swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Well, I was just wondering why you gave me a C.” You could hear your voice trailing off as you finished your sentence watching his brows raise in incredulity.

“First, I did not give you a C. You earned that. If you believe that to be unfair, then I would suggest taking your studies more seriously instead of using my class as your hunting ground.”

You could feel your mouth hanging open as you struggled to process what he had just said. “Hunting? Hunting for what?”

His eyes traveled over you. “I know an M.R.S. degree candidate when I see one. 

“A what?” What was he even saying? How could this be happening? Never had anyone ever treated you with such open hostility. What had you done to deserve this?

“A girl who goes to college to find a husband.” His arms crossed, challenging you.

Heat was coiling in your stomach. Bile rising. “That’s not—”

His fingers steepled under his chin. “Really? What’s your major?”

“I don’t know.” You shifted your feet, averting your gaze to the floor. “I haven’t de—”

“You don’t know?” he interrupted again. “Then why are you here?”

“To learn.” Your eyes burned with unspent tears as you tried to will them from falling.

“To learn what? What is it you want?” His voice though still clear and demanding and softened slightly. 

Glancing up, you tried to study him through your water-blurred eyes. What did you want? No one had ever asked you that. Your parents had always made sure you chose what they wanted for you. “I-I don’t know yet.”

“Mmhmm. Until you figure that out, I suggest you start taking this class more seriously. You can begin by dressing like you’re here ‘to learn.’” He stood, gathered his things and left.

You stared at your paper with more questions swirling around your mind than you had before you set it down. You glanced down at your clothes. You wore a tank top and some jeans with a few holes in them. Nothing everyone else wasn’t wearing too. An M.R.S. candidate? Did he really think you were just here to ensnare an unsuspecting husband? Shame quickly became anger. You would show him.

***********

Steve turned back to see her trembling hand retrieve the essay. A quick brush of her cheeks rid her face of any errant tears. Navigating the halls, Steve reached his office. Had he been too harsh? _No_, he told himself. _She’ll go out of her way to piss you off. Tighter clothes. Flirting with more boys. Then you’ll know she’s just like the rest._

Ever since he’d come back, regardless of all the fights he’d won; his own inner demons had always been his biggest battle. He fought against his needs. Against his desires. His few relationships had only confirmed that he required more than an equal partnership where all decisions were based on compromise and a natural give and take. He needed control.

Finding, a like-minded woman, one willing to give herself over to him had proven difficult. Even the women who claimed to be submissive only meant within the confines of the bedroom. He required more. He would wait until he found the perfect woman for him. He was nothing if not patient.

***********

Stubborn pride fueled you. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday you wore your best, most modest outfits. Blouses, skirts, pants without rips and holes. You stopped talking to Zach, well, talking to any guy really. You were here for an education not to arrange an advantageous marriage.

You spent all of your free time in the library. Heather had found herself a partner and as much as you wanted to be happy for her, you needed quiet to do your work. The library had been a pleasant sanctuary until Professor Rogers started frequenting it as well. Every night, he would sit at a table just within your periphery, reading and writing on his yellow legal pad.

In fact, you had started seeing him just about everywhere you went around campus. You crossed paths on your way to classes. Never acknowledging each other. He would pick up dinner to go from the dining hall every night as you sat down to eat. Maybe you had just never noticed him before you wanted to avoid him. But how could you not have noticed him? He was Captain America. He stood out in a crowd even in dress shirts and blazers. You would probably die if you ever saw him in jeans. Of course, the gaggles of girls that giggled their way after him was hard to miss too. They wouldn’t be so lovestruck if they knew what he actually thought about girls like them.

**********

Steve watched her closely as she scanned items at her register station. This was getting out of hand. He had noticed immediately, that she started dressing more conservatively. His favorites were the little cardigans she began to wear. That little prick Zach could barely catch her eye anymore. She never spoke to him. Or smiled at him. The fact that she had listened to his criticisms and changed her behaviors to fit his expectations, made Steve feel something he hadn’t felt in years. Hope.

After gaining access to her student file and schedule, it was easy to adjust his own to observe her more. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to know where she was when she wasn’t near him. He’d finally followed her to her job. Retail work was not something she should be subjected to. It was easy enough to get a glimpse of her work schedule by asking the manager what times the store was less crowded to avoid making a scene. It was right there, hanging in the hallway by his office. His poor little girl was working so hard. He’d have to see what he could do to remedy this. But how to get her to come to him?

Steve loaded his groceries into his car. Sitting in the front seat, he pulled out a stack of papers from his satchel flipping through them until he came to yours. It was grammatically and factually correct just like the first. It was lacking in insight, also like the first. This was what he needed. She approached him once. She’d do it again. But just in case…he marked a red C at the top of her paper and added “Please see me” underneath.

***********

You couldn’t believe it. Another C. It made no sense. You researched everything. You had sources. What were you doing wrong? You’d never been a stellar student but you’d always managed A’s and B’s. You waited until everyone had left, Heather didn’t even bother to ask if you wanted her to wait. Her love was in a classroom down the hall waiting to be escorted elsewhere. Sighing, you gathered your things and closed the gap between you and the teacher’s desk.

Professor Rogers stared at you. Waiting for you to approach. As always, he was difficult to read. You could never guess his mood. Would he yell at you? Would he laugh at you? Did he enjoy making you nervous?

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked, forcing your voice to sound firm when you so badly just want to hide.

“Yes, I think we need to discuss your grades. I think you could be doing much better. I’d like to meet with you during offices hours to go over your papers and offer you a chance to correct your previous ones as well as work on the next one. I don’t offer this opportunity to many.”

“Thank you, sir. I just—” you sighed. You didn’t want to decline his generous offer but…

“You just what?” he prompted.

“I have classes during your office hours.” You knew you couldn’t skip and fall behind in your other classes to catch up in this one. You were actually doing well in the others.

Professor Rogers stood, forcing you to crane your head back to maintain eye contact. “I’ll meet with you at 7 p.m. in my office on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays then.”

Your eyes widened. The building would be empty. Evening classes were only held on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Alone with Professor Rogers. How should you feel about that? You were definitely nervous and scared. But some small part of you was excited. “Yes, sir. Thank you so much for this opportunity. I’ll see you tonight then.” Turning on the spot, you left before he could change his mind. What the hell had just happened?

***********

What had he just done? Steve had put himself in the situation of being alone with a female student after hours. This was against every employee handbook ever written. But he had been right about her having potential. Untapped. Unvarnished. He knew he could help her in so many ways. Maybe someday she could help him.

No. He turned to clean the board behind him off for the next class. He had to put those thoughts away. Long strokes erased the black marker on the white surface. She was his student. He needed to keep this professional. Any possible scandal would put both their futures in jeopardy.

Steve enjoyed his job teaching. He didn’t particularly need the money but he needed the outlet. Retirement would never be something he was comfortable with. He had a book deal in the works for an autobiography. If that did well, then he could write whatever he wanted. But no one would want to publish a book by a creepy centenarian that got caught with much much younger student. One who would forever be cast as a pariah for the rest of her life.

Self-control had never been a problem before. He was always disciplined and level headed. Steve was sure he could muster enough will power to keep things professional. But the fact that he had taken it this far at all was concerning. She was going to disappoint him eventually and he needed to give her the opportunity to do so. Then he could move on without regrets. He repeated this to himself, his own mantra, trying to tamp down the voice that kept asking “But what if…” 


	2. Chapter 2

The eyes in the mirror stared back at you, judging your every movement. You brushed your teeth over the sink, rinsing and spitting, ensuring that your breath would not be an issue. You glanced at your outfit. It was wrinkled from a day of wear but if you changed, he might notice and that would be weird. Wouldn’t it? Should you reapply mascara or lip gloss? Why were you like this?

He was just your professor. He didn’t care about you other than professionally. And it shouldn’t matter that he was tall, built, and a god damned superhero. Those were all good reasons to keep any thoughts unrelated to school hidden deep, so deep down. The thought of him seeing you as anything other than a student was laughable. You were only maintaining your appearance so he would know you were taking your education seriously. Maybe a little lip gloss wouldn’t hurt.

“Where are you going?” Heather walked into the room. She threw her purse down and sprawled on her bed, stretching out as if she was about to make a snow angel in her comforter.

“Library. Like I always do,” you lied. You didn’t want people knowing Professor Rogers was giving you extra help. Not only was it embarrassing, but he would get hounded for special treatment from people who would try to use him for his fame.

“You put on lip gloss for the library now?” A slow smirk played across her face. 

“Tell Mr. Library “hi” from me.” She reached into her desk drawer, pulling out a small object. Standing, she crossed the room and slipped it into your messenger bag. “Just in case,” she said with a wink.

Taking your bag from her grip, you threw it over your shoulder. “I’m just studying.”

“All work and no play will make you a dull girl. You need to have some fun. College is supposed to be an experience.”

“College is supposed to get me away from parents. I can’t afford to have fun right now. I need to save my money so when I do graduate, I never have to rely on them again.”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to live vicariously through me then.” She leaned past you, fixing the smudges of liner under eyes.

“If by vicariously, you mean holding your hair while you vomit, then yes…I guess I’ll have to live vicariously through you.” You laughed at the mock offense that played across her face.

“That was one time. If you had come with me, maybe I wouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

“Mmhmm. When have I ever been able to stop you from doing anything?” You turned the handle and walked through the door.

Heather flopped back down on her mattress. “True. You are a pushover.”

You peeked your head back in the room. “And you’re a slutty lush.”

“Betch!” She laughed as she threw her pillow at the door. “Go hit it with Mr. Library so I can upgrade you to slut too, nerd.”

Nerd. Following the hallway to the exit, you knew it was true. Academics was your only focus right now. You assumed a social life would follow once you had established yourself later in life. What if you were wrong? What if you really were missing out? Should you try to be more like Heather? She seemed happy with her partner. Shaking your head, you pushed those doubts away.

The campus was beautiful during the day. Lots of common areas covered in trees and grass between the buildings for the sun to shine down on. It was lowering in the sky, just settled over the buildings casting shadows along your path. As much as you loved greens and bright blues of the day, you preferred the navy and greys of the evenings, when the lights of the buildings glowed in the distance, lighting the periphery of campus. Lamp posts dotted the walkways. Everything was quiet and still except for the droning song of the cicadas. The solitude and exercise always helped calm your nerves and clear your mind. You were sure you’d have a lot to think of tonight on your walk back to your dorm.

You checked your watch as you waited in the hallway outside of Professor Roger’s office. Only half the lights above you were lit. No light shone from under the door. 30 minutes early, you breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t waiting on you.

You slid down the wall, sitting cross-legged on the floor, your bag resting on your lap and waited. The minutes ticked by. You moved the bag to the floor, hugging your legs to your chest while resting your head on your knees. Closing your eyes, you tried to control your breathing while counting to four and back to one. Relaxing was never something you were very good at. Your mind always seemed to want to nit-pick at every word you’d ever spoken and every action ever taken to find the flaws it felt the need to replay on repeat. For once, it was quiet in the dim florescent glow of the hallway.

***********

He was fine. Steve reminded himself. He was still in control. It was just like reconnaissance. He needed to be near her, to learn about her. Once he had accomplished that, he could close the books and all of this would fade away. It was just the mystery he liked.

He wasn’t one to arrive last to party. Punctuality was important to him. It showed responsibility for yourself and respect for others. But he wanted to see if she would be waiting for him. Would she be annoyed? Would she be mad? Irate at the hypocrisy? What he didn’t expect was for her to be asleep. His smile at the sight of her quickly dissipated.

It was 6:45 in the evening. Much too early for a young woman to be this tired. He knew her schedule was spreading her a bit thin, but what was she doing when he couldn’t watch her that would cause this level of exhaustion? Was he pushing her too hard? Did she know her limits? Or would she ignore her own well-being to please others? Or worse, was there someone else?

Oblivious to the sound of his footstep echoing against the linoleum, she slumbered peacefully not knowing that she was putting herself in danger. Vulnerable. Open to all sorts of attacks. How could she be so careless? So naïve?

She needed someone to take care of her. Someone who could nurture her need to please while encouraging self-discovery. No panty raiding frat boy would be able to give her that.

Or was he just finding ways to fit her into his desires?

************

Arms and legs jerking in all directions, you jolted awake at the sound of your name. Professor Rogers knelt before you, his eyes staring at your overturned bag, the contents splayed across the linoleum. He reached down and picked something up.

Gathering your possessions, you no longer cared if they laid neatly in the bag. “I’m so sorry,” you muttered, shoving everything inside. Facing him once more, you noticed his hand stretched before you.

Between his fingers, he presented a small foil square with a telltale circle in the middle. His eyebrows nearly met between his eyes. His lips pressed thin.

You were going to kill Heather. If you didn’t die first. Lips parting, no words came to your rescue. You wanted to explain it was a sick joke of your roommate, but you never got the chance.

Rising to his full height, he asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Your head shook furiously as you slowly stood, hugging your bag. Heat blazed through your body. You could feel the sweat beading in your palms.

“Are you sexually active?” His jaw clenched. 

A squeak, then choking coughs were the only thing that issued from your widening mouth. “N-no!” you managed to sputter.

“Good. Then we can throw this away.” He tossed the condom into a trash can a few feet from you before reaching into his pocket to pull out a metal ring with several items dangling from it. He inserted the key into his office door. The lock clicked decisively, and he pulled the door open waiting for you to walk in.

Crossing the threshold, you stood in the dark until a light was flipped on. You paused staring at the walls surrounding you. His desk was in front of a window. There were a few shelves with books. A table with a chair was to the left under a framed world map. Other than that, the beige walls were bare.

“Not what you were expecting?” Professor Rogers asked.

To be honest, you were disappointed. It looked like a regular teacher’s office. You thought for sure his office would be a shrine to his glory days. “I guess, I was expecting more red, white, and blue.”

“I save that for home. Too many people, students and faculty, tried to get in. I could have charged admission. It’s just easier this way. Once everyone knew this room was nothing special, they left me alone.”

You stared at the man before you. And for the first time you got a glimpse; not of the superhero, not of the intimidating professor, but of the human behind those facades. You didn’t know which was scarier that he could kill a man with his bare hands, end your academic career with a swipe of his pen, or that he actually might have feelings.

Ignoring that revelation, you pulled out your papers and notebook and waited. He seemed to be waiting too but for what, you had no idea. “I appreciate you doing this. I, just, really don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, and I know I could do better. Um, where should I sit?”

“You can work over there.” He pointed to the table and followed as you approached it.

Taking your seat, you laid your papers and notebook on the wooden surface. He stood next to you then turned on the spot, leaning against the tabletop, his arms crossed against his chest. You stared up at him, not knowing what to do. Why did he make you so nervous?

“Read to me,” he commanded.

“What?” Read to him? You looked around for a book or a magazine.

“Your paper. The first one. Read it to me,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you said with a shake of your head and a chuckle_. I’m an idiot, _you thought to yourself_. _You held up your paper, the red C glaring at you, and proceeded to read it out loud.

About halfway in he stopped you. “There. This is where you’re lacking. You have told me facts, made comparisons, sited sources, but what you haven’t done is taken all that information a step further. You’re a good writer, technically speaking, but you need to dig deeper. How did all of that affect the people? The country? The world? You’re good at drawing parallels between events, but you need to tell me why they were significant.”

You leaned back and considered what he said, mulling over the questions he presented. Your pen bounced off your pursed lips as you tapped it against them, a habit you had formed whenever you thought. You caught it between your lips as inspiration struck. Flipping your notebook to a blank page, you began to scribble furiously.

Professor Rogers turned, one hand resting on the back of your chair, the other on desk as he leaned over you, reading your work. You could see the stubble on his jaw from his long day. It was surprising how long his eyelashes were and how soft his lips looked. Suddenly they started moving. Staring at them, it took you a second to realize that he was, in fact, speaking to you.

“That’s good,” he said as his eyes moved back and forth, reading your additions. “Good girl. Keep going. Read the rest of your paper, and I want to see what new conclusions you draw.”

You fought hard to keep your smile at bay from the praise, but a warmth had settled in your core. “Yes, sir.” He left your side to sit at his desk and for a fleeting moment, you were disappointed.

**********

Steve watched her as she worked. Hand flying across the paper, leaving black cursive in its wake. He was grateful for the heavy desk in front of him, when she started tapping the pen to her lips again, parting them slightly as she traced her bottom lip with top.

He needed to calm down but the way she waited for him to give you instructions. The little “Yes, sir.” He could see her fighting her instinct at being called a “good girl.” Fighting her pleasure, her pride. What would it take to make her accept those feelings? To allow herself to smile?

Steve turned his attention to the yellow legal pad in front of him. Flipping to a new page, he tried to focus on his own writing, but his thoughts traveled to the condom that had spilled out on the floor. In all his hours of watching her, he’d never seen her with a boy. Was there someone he didn’t know about? The idea made his insides churn. That some green boy might be climbing on top of her, using her to meet his needs without any regard to hers made bile rise to his throat, his hands flexed wishing for a face to punch. The vision of her shock and embarrassment at his discovery calmed the rage roiling within. Her reaction was too genuine and pure to be false. Now all he had to do was keep her that way.

He felt his resolve slipping as her foot tapped with an excess of nervous energy. Her thumb came to her mouth as she nibbled on her nail, shoulders hunched as she leaned over her work. He could do so much to help her. Alleviate her worries. Help her discover different ways of coping that both of you could enjoy. His hands rubbed his face, trying to scrub the images of her relaxed and sated underneath him from his brain. Steve had been in dangerous situations before where the fate of the world had rested on his shoulder but staying away from her was already proving to be a battle. How could he win a war against himself?

***********

Rereading once more, you bit your non-existence nails. What if it still wasn’t enough? What if he was disappointed? There was only one way to find out. You stepped towards the desk at a slow march.

Standing at the edge of the desk, you waited. Professor Rogers was engrossed in his writing. Thick fingers flexing around a type of pen you had only ever seen in an old movie. “What are you working on?” you blurted out.

Hair falling from the clutches of whatever product he used, his fingers brushed the golden locks back. His head turned up. Blues eyes meeting yours. Would they ever not devastate you? The universe was cruel to give you a teacher so good looking. He flipped his notepad over and put that cap back on his pen.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question,” you quickly added when he did not answer.

“No, it’s fine. I’m working on an autobiography.” He threaded his fingers together, resting them on the desk.

“You’re writing a book by hand? Sorry to ask such an obvious question, but why don’t you type it?”

“It’s faster for me to process my thoughts this way.”

“So…you can’t use a computer?”

“I can. Pointing and clicking isn’t difficult. It’s the typing I’m not good at.”

“Huh.” You knew you were staring but you couldn’t help it.

“What?” His eyebrows raised.

“Oh, nothing really. It’s just the thought of you being bad at something. I had never considered that possibility.”

He chuckled. “Even I have my limitations.”

“What else are you bad at?” Ignoring his annoyance, you persisted. “Please, I’ll never tell anyone.”

He glared facetiously at you a moment then relented with a sigh. “Dancing.”

“What? No. I’ve seen old movies. Everyone knew how to dance.”

“Girls back then preferred to dance with men they didn’t tower over.”

“Oh.” You had forgotten he hadn’t always been the tall Adonis sitting before you. You had seen a picture of him before the serum once in a museum. It was hard to reconcile those two men.

Professor Rogers cleared his throat. The moment was over. “Let me see what you’ve written.”

Handing him your notebook, you held your breath as he scanned each line.

“Good. Very good. I want you to retype your paper and turn it to me next time we meet. I’ll regrade it and we can get to work on your second paper.”

“Yes, sir. May I bring my laptop next time and just type my additions directly to the document?”

“That’ll be fine.”

“Thank you so much, sir. I appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“You’re welcome.” He picked up his pen and flipped over his legal pad and began to write once more.

You gathered your things and left quietly. Not wishing to disturb his night further. As for you, it was off to the library for real. You still had work for your other classes to complete. But knowing you were finally on the right track with your papers lifted a weight that had been burying you in self-doubt and despair.

The library was closing. Midnight seemed to come faster and faster every day, but it was a good thing they kicked you out. You had been reading the same paragraph for the last 15 minutes without absorbing any of it. You needed to get some sleep before your morning classes and afternoon filled with tedious cashier duties. Waving goodnight to the librarian, you walked into the night.

The breeze was cooler than you had anticipated. Your arms curled around you. It was definitely time to start bringing a light jacket with you for these late-night sessions.

“You shouldn’t walk alone after dark,” a deep voice sounded behind you.

Startled, your hand flew to your chest. “Professor Rogers! You scared the bejeezus out of me.” Tried to calm your pounding heart. “It’s just a few blocks on campus.”

“You think nothing bad ever happens on campus?”

“No-um—” Of course, you knew better. You had heard horror stories. The first few times you walked alone at night on campus you had your can of mace ready. Once you realized you were one of the only people out, it became a distant concern, but you kept your ears and eyes open.

His hand wrapped around your upper arm and pulled you along. “Come on.” He led you for a few feet before he let go of you.

You weren’t sure what to do. Did you need to make small talk? Should you thank him? Should you be mad that he assumed you needed protecting? Truth be told you were a little grateful for his presence, but you hoped no one saw the two of you.

A strong breeze sent goosebumps up your arms. The next thing you knew a large blazer was being draped on your shoulders, warmth still radiating from it. It felt like the blankets your mother used to give you straight from the dryer. You wanted to wrap yourself in it, rolling into a ball until you were completely covered. And the scent. God, he smelled good. Like one of the candles you had put on the shelves at work. What was it? Mahogany and vetiver.

“Thank you,” you said.

“You need to start carrying a jacket,” he replied sternly.

“It wasn’t chilly when I went into the library,” you muttered.

He led you to your dorms and it briefly occurred to you that you had never told him which building you lived in, but before you could process that he took his jacket and said, “You need to go in and go straight to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” was all you could muster. What had just happened? Did Professor Rogers really just walk you home? And give you his jacket? You’d never even had a date do that for you. And really, was he concerned or just annoyed with you? You had thought he had started to warm up to you in his office. But now? Why was everything with this man so confusing?

And yet, you couldn’t help but follow his instructions. You got ready for bed and climbed under the sheets. The faint smell of him teasing you as you drifted off.

************

Steve knew he needed to back off. Knew this would end badly if any hint of impropriety was sniffed out by other faculty or students. But he was addicted. Addicted to the way she followed his instructions and waited patiently for them. He bet she was already tucked in bed. And the way she found her voice tonight after receiving praise. She was curious about him and that one “good girl” had given her the confidence to ask him about himself. She didn’t even ask about his time as an Avenger like anyone else would. Oh no, she asked him about his flaws. Most wouldn’t dare. But his girl did.

He retraced his steps to his car. He hadn’t thought she would still go to the library after their meeting. But there she had been, across campus under the light near the library entrance, walking alone. He had followed her many nights before making sure she made it to her dorm safely, but after her stunt falling asleep in the hallway, closer guarding was in order. Since her own safety was not a priority to her, he would have to make it a priority for himself.

***********

There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to help you. Your boss had begged you to work earlier than usual. You usually helped unload the truck at 4 a.m. for a few hours until you had class. With the holidays fast approaching, more trucks were coming delivering items for sales and feasts weeks before they would be on the floor. It had been too hard to tell him no. And so, you turned up at 2 a.m. after leaving the night before at 10 p.m.

Now you sat in a darkened classroom, the buzz and clicks of a slide projector behind you lulling you into a stupor. Professor Rogers lectured and you tried to write notes. Knowing you had to see him again this evening, you didn’t want to appear like you expected special treatment. You didn’t. But civility would have been nice. However, he ignored you at the start of class just as he always had.

Covering your mouth as it opened in another gaping yawn, you tried to focus on what he was saying as the black and white slides turned on the carousel. Maybe if you just rested your eyes for a minute, you’d be able to keep them open longer.

Slam!

Heart pounding, you jumped awake. A thick book sat on your desk; Professor Rogers frowned down at you as the rest of the class giggled.

“Nice of you to rejoin us.” He leaned down and whispered, “We will discuss this tonight.” His breath tickled your ear. Taking the book, he continued lecturing.

The adrenaline pumping through your veins was enough to keep you awake for the rest of class. Of course, you still weren’t paying attention. The thought of disappointing him and humiliating yourself once again played on repeat in your mind, interrupted only by the dread of tonight. 

The wait for your meeting was torture. All you could think of was him taking back his offer of help and letting you flounder in your C for the rest of the semester. Would he do that you?

He was already in his office when you arrived. You knocked on the door and waited for permission to enter. How many times had you had this exact encounter with your father? Walking into his office on your weekend with him. Accounting for any low grades or bad reports from school. Explaining why you never won any ribbons or trophies in the activities you were forced to participate in. To him, you were never enough. It was almost a relief when he remarried and started a new family, shunting you to side.

However, Professor Rogers didn’t immediately bring up class that day. You gave him your completed first paper and he asked you to read your second. After discussing the conclusions you could draw from the information in your writing, you got to work typing those thoughts into your work.

“Was my lecture that boring?” Professor Rogers asked after several minutes of silence had passed. 

Your fingers stopped their typing. “Oh no, sir. I’m so sorry—”

“Are you getting enough sleep?” He turned to rummage through a file cabinet behind him.

“What?”

“Are you getting enough sleep?” He peered over his shoulder at you.

“Well…I’ve been working extra hours. The holidays are coming up. The store needs more help.”

“That’s unacceptable.” He closed the cabinet and turned to face you.

“I can’t quit my job. I need the money.” It wasn’t a total lie.

“For what? Your tuition is paid in full. You don’t have any financial aid.”

It was true your father financed your expense now, but how did he know? “I want to be able to live on my own once I graduate. I know I may not get a good-paying job right out of college…even if I knew what I wanted to do. I need a nest egg.”

“Why don’t you live with your parents?” he asked.

“It’s complicated.” How did this meeting end up being about your home life? The last thing you needed was your professor knowing how dysfunctional your background was. You had it better than a lot of people you knew, but still, it was not something you intended to be common knowledge.

“I see.” He tapped a stack of papers in front of them, aligning them perfectly. “I have a business proposition for you then. A job.” He extended the documents toward you.

Crossing the office from your seat at the table, you took the papers and look over them. It was a Non-Disclosure Agreement.

“I value my privacy, so if we strike a deal, you’ll have to sign that.”

Staring at the legal documents in your hands, you replied, “You haven’t even told me what your proposition is.”

“I need a typist. I have deadlines to meet with my publisher. I can’t type my autobiography as I go. I need someone else to do that for me.”

“You could hire anyone. You could have people volunteer. Why pay me to do it?”

“You seem proficient at typing and grammar. If I placed an ad for someone, I would have hundreds of people to interview and sift through. This seemed the easiest.”

So, you were just convenient. Of course. Story of your life.

He continued, “I would pay you fifteen dollars an hour.”

The wheels in your brain stopped turning. Fifteen dollars an hour? Did he actually say that? That was almost twice what you made. A few months of this and your nest egg would be padded nicely.

“You’d be working with me in my home. Typing and maybe an occasional errand. Anything that you see, hear, or do in my home remains confidential as per that agreement. I’m not the easiest person to work with, I’ve been told, but I think we could both benefit from this.”

*********

Steve observed her struggles. He knew this would be difficult for her to accept but even more so to refuse. He needed her to say yes. Away from prying eyes on campus, he could finally start to really push her. To see if she could reach the potential he saw in her.

They needed this extra time to get to know each other. His office would never allow them to relax in each other’s presence. There was always the chance of being seen or interrupted. His home, his sanctuary, might afford them the possibility to become more than just professor and student. More than just acquaintances. To become more.

***********

Working with your professor in his home. Signing an NDA. All of this had the makings of Lifetime Movie but fifteen dollars an hour… “Am I even allowed to work for you? Are there any rules against this in the student handbook? Or in the employee handbook?”

“There aren’t any specific rules, but we should probably keep this quiet just to avoid any possible jealousy or allegations of favoritism.”

Skimming the document in your hands, you asked, “Can I take this with me and think about it?”

“Of course.”

Even though you weren’t finished with your paper, you needed to leave. To think without his eyes on you. Concealing the NDA in a textbook, you said goodnight and walked out the door. The dread you had felt earlier walking into the office had changed, swirling into something lighter, a mix of anticipation and maybe pride?

Professor Rogers could have asked anyone. Could have anyone for this position. But he asked you. He wanted you. Even if it was just convenience, it was still a sort of accomplishment. And a tiny bit of you, one you tried not to acknowledge, knew you wanted this position not for the money, but because you wanted him too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Rogers has you in his home, at his beck and call…but he underestimates the amount of control he has over you.

The door to his office stood before you. Taunting you, teasing you. All you had to do was walk through it. And yet, you remained frozen in place, caught between rational thought, fear, and desire. There was nothing stopping you from going back to the grocery store and begging for your old job back. You could easily rip the document you’d already signed in half. But you didn’t.

As much as you feared that nothing good could come from working for Professor Rogers, your curiosity and the allure of more money had gotten the better of you. It would be foolish not to take advantage of it. After all, he’d only ever been generous with you.

It was now or never. Entering the office, you closed the door behind you and waited for him to acknowledge you. He was writing on a yellow pad of papers as he always when you saw him in his office. It seemed rude to interrupt his stream of thought.

Without looking up, he asked, “Did you sign the contract?”

“Yes, sir.” You stepped forward and laid it on the desk.

The pen stabbed at the paper, leaving a period after the last sentence. He sat back in his chair, his eye meeting yours and smiled. “Good. And your current job?” He capped his pen, laying it in front of him, taking the document in his hands. His eyes scanned the papers for your initials and signatures in all the right places.

“Well, I quit.” You had felt so guilty for leaving without notice but the fit the manager threw morphed that remorse into relief. It would be so nice not having to deal with him and his tantrums anymore. “I know I should have given notice, but I wasn’t sure when you wanted me to start.”

“Immediately. I’d like you at my house tomorrow at 9 a.m.” He handed you a small piece of paper with his address written and phone number on it.

“Yes, sir. Um…what should I wear?” What were his expectations? Should she dress like she would for an office job? Would it be more relaxed since it was in the privacy of his home?

“Hmm…” His chin rested his hand as his finger rubbed against his lips while he thought. “The dark jeans, white blouse with the little black dots, and the green cardigan. Don’t forget a jacket.”

“Oh. Ok.” You had expected business casual or maybe just casual. How did he know your wardrobe so well? You shook your head at your own ridiculousness. You only had so many outfits, and he was trained to be super observant, of course, he would know details like that. It seemed you would be doing laundry tonight. “Is that all for this evening, sir? I don’t have another paper to correct yet.”

“I suppose that’s all unless you can think of anything else.” His eyes traveled over you. If he were anyone else, you would have thought he was flirting. But no way Steve Rogers would see you that way.

“Nope, I think that’s it. So… I’ll see you tomorrow morning then. Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight. I want you well-rested. In bed by 10.”

“10? It’s Friday night.” The whine in your voice made you cringe. Damnit, you were an adult. Why couldn’t you sound like it?

He stood, forcing you to look up at him. He stacked his papers and pens neatly before putting them in his briefcase. “Do you have plans?” he asked.

“Well, no—”

“Then this will prevent you from scrolling social media for no reason until god knows when. 10 p.m. You’ll be staring at a screen most of the day tomorrow. Don’t stay up all night doing it.”

Lips pressed together; you couldn’t think of an argument.

“Don’t pout. You know I’m right. Just be a good girl and get some well-deserved rest.” He patted your shoulder then spun you around to face the door before nudging you in that direction.

Grumbling, you knew full well you were pouting. Not because he was telling you what to do but because there was no reason not to listen. You didn’t have a life outside of class and work. You told yourself you kept it that way on purpose, but when faced with bedtime, it made your life seem so boring. Bleak even. At least, Heather would be out and wouldn’t lay witness to lameness that was your life.

Parting at the entrance of the building, you both said goodnight again and went your separate ways. There were a few hours to spare before bed. You grabbed yourself some dinner and took it back to your room. You passed dorms where music blasted within, signaling all the people getting ready for a long night out. Surprisingly, you weren’t jealous. The thought of going out exhausted you. An extra bonus, all the washers and dryers in the laundry room would be empty so you could do all your washing at once. Peace, quiet, and solitude; all things you craved after days of classrooms filled with students, lectures, and the bustle of campus. Maybe an early evening wasn’t so bad after all.

Arriving at his house, you exited your car. It was getting up there in years, a hand-me-down from your mother who had received a new one from one of her many boyfriends, but it got you where you needed to go. What you hadn’t expected was to have to check in with a security guard at the gate to the neighborhood, the long tree-lined driveway, and the size of the house in front of you. Why would someone with money like this teach at the local college?

It was the type of house you’d only ever seen in the architecture magazines your mother would buy and drool over as she dreamed of walk-in closets, saunas, and mudrooms. The three-car garage was perpendicular to the rest of the house. Red bricks, grey rock, and white trim around the windows and shutters. It was more traditional than you expected, but maybe the inside would paint a more accurate picture of the owner.

Ringing the doorbell, you wondered if a butler would answer. This seemed like the type of neighborhood that needed one. You turned to view the manicured lawn. Small hedges lined the house with flowering bushes at every corner. The trees in the distance were all trimmed and pruned. He seemed to have a knack for taming nature, bending it to his will until it was perfect.

The door opened. Professor Rogers stood before you, light gray sweats clinging to his hips, white shirt transparent with sweat, his hair was wet, dropping beads down his face. Every muscle, every bulge was perfectly outlined by the damp cotton adhering to flesh. Heat flooded your body, teeth baring down on your bottom lip as you scrambled to gather yourself.

“Good morning,” he said with a small smile.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to be this early. But I didn’t know how far it was or what traffic would be like.” You knew you were blathering like an idiot as your eye darted everywhere but at the man who was your teacher and employer and looked like he was ready to grind with Magic Mike.

“It’s fine. Come in.” He stepped to the side, ushering you in.

A large spiral staircase stood in the foyer. To the left, you saw a dining room. To the right an office. You caught a glimpse of a living area beyond the stairs. Dark hardwood floors contrasted with bright white walls. Furniture in hues of greys and espresso. Everything was clean, straight lines. The contemporary style made more sense to you. Functional. Utilitarian. Quiet.

“So, the Avengers retirement plan must be pretty good.” You remarked as you took in the high ceiling above you.

“It helps to invest in Stark Industries in the 1940s. Howard kept my stocks protected in case I was ever found. He also made sure I was never presumed dead. It took a while to get all the paperwork processed to finally get it.”

Stock from the ’40s? How much would that be worth today? “So why are you teaching? You could just kick back and relax.”

“I’ve never been one to sit back and do nothing. I had to reevaluate how I could make a difference without being surrounded by violence and death. Teaching seemed the route that made the most sense. I think it’s important to point out the mistakes of the past. Hopefully, then people won’t repeat them.” He walked towards the dining room. A large table sat in the middle. A computer sat at the head of the table with a printer on the serving cabinet behind it. “I’ve set you up a workstation in here. Give me your phone, please.

“My phone?” You reached into your purse, pulling out your old phone that was at least 2 models ago, and handed it to him.

“I won’t have you distracted and playing on this while you are supposed to be working for me. You may have it back before you go.”

That seemed a bit harsh. You weren’t in middle school. What if someone tried to contact you? You sighed and realized he was probably right. It’s not like anyone was going to call you anyways.

“Through there you’ll find your way to the kitchen. Why don’t you make some coffee while I shower?”

“Yes, sir.” Ignoring the visual of him under a cascade of water, soap bubbles running down his body, you followed his directions through a butler’s pantry and found the kitchen to the left. You could only hope he would be back in his slacks and blazers. Although, those did similar things to your heart rate. Why did he have to be so attractive?

***********

Steve turned the water on, waiting for steam to collect before entering. He had been caught off guard by her early arrival but so please when she showed up in the outfit he specified. She had obviously been embarrassed by his appearance but was it because of the state of his clothing or the state of her body’s reaction to it? He’d bet on the latter.

Having her here in his house, all to himself, excited him in a way he didn’t think possible anymore. He needed a clear head. Soapy hands gripped his semi-erect cock, stroking it until it hardened. His hand moved up and down his length with a fast hard pace. It took him no time to cum as he thought of her eyes staring up at him, spread beneath him. Open, welcoming, trusting.

Too trusting. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he took her phone off the counter. It took him less than a minute to bypass the pin code. Downloading a spyware app, he checked his phone to see if the two had synced. He’d now be able to monitor her movements whenever she was away from him 

**********

“Coffee pot. Coffee pot. Coffee pot.” You muttered turning in place. He had asked you to make coffee, surely there had to be a coffee pot somewhere. “Oh no.” A silver percolator straight out of some black and white movie sat in a corner. It had a plug, so that was good. But how on Earth, did you use it?

Reaching for your purse, realized in horror that you couldn’t even google this. You couldn’t go ask him. He was in the shower. And that last thing he needed to know was how useless you were.

You took the lid off and found a metal basket inside. Lifting it, you could see indicators inside the pot and the basket for how much water and coffee to use.

Opening his cabinets to search for coffee felt like such an invasion of his privacy. But he had asked you to do this, so it was fine, right? Every cabinet was organized. There was a serious lack of contraband. No chips. No Oreos. _Of course, there wouldn’t be._ You laughed to yourself. The man was in impeccable shape. Fried foods and sugar would probably hinder that physique. Or would it? How does a super-soldier metabolism work?

Finally taking note of the canisters on his countertops, you opened them one by one revealing flour, sugar, and finally coffee. You filled the percolator and prayed that you had assumed correctly. Plugging it in you waited.

A few minutes later a distinct popping sound could be heard from the silver pot and the smell of coffee gradually filled the air. A light turned on as the percolator finished it work. Grabbing a mug from a cabinet previously explored, you were relieved when it poured a rich dark brown.

“That smells good.” An arm reached around you taking the mug from your hands.

Shrinking away, you picked at a loose string on the hem of your cardigan. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted cream and sugar.”

His mouth quirked. “Not in my coffee.” He was in a dark blue plaid shirt and black pants. Not something you had ever seen him in.

“Black it is,” you said, ignoring the possibility of any innuendo. He would never. Would he? You followed him silently, lost in what if’s and other unlikely scenarios, to the dining room. A stack of yellow legal pads was now sitting next to the laptop.

“All I need you to do is type out what I have written. If you have any questions, or can’t read something let me know.”

“Yes, sir.” You sat at the table and pulled the first stack of pages towards you. The cursive writing was immaculate. There were barely any words crossed out or notes in the margin. This was going to be easy.

He left you to your task, walking across the foyer to the study. You opened a new document, noticing quickly that your computer was not connected to any internet. He really didn’t want you distracted. Your fingers began typing, the plain font depressing next to his elegant script.

You weren’t at work for long before he called your name. Startled, you leaped up and ran into the other room. “Professor?”

He didn’t look up from his work. “I need a refill and could you find me a protein bar. Not the chocolate kind. The banana bread one.”

“Of course.” You forgot you had agreed to help in more ways than just typing. Apparently fetching was going to be one of those ways. That was fine. You could make coffee and find protein bars.

Standing in his kitchen you stared at the open cupboard. Should you bring it on a plate or not? Should you open it? Would he want you touching his food? Why were you making this more complicated than it needed to be? Finally, you settled on a napkin, the protein bar still wrapped, and a piping hot cup of coffee, no cream or sugar.

Back at the table, you started getting into a rhythm. The steady clicks of the keyboard made you feel as though you were accomplishing something important. Hopefully, you were able to impress him by getting his autobiography ready much sooner than he anticipated or needed.

Or not.

Your name echoed in the foyer once more. Closing the distance, you waited for your instructions.

“I need you to refill my pens.” He pushed four thick capped pens and a glass jar of ink towards you.

“Ok.” Refill a pen? What was wrong with ballpoint? You picked one up removing the lid. The tip reminded you of a calligraphy pen.

“It’s a fountain pen,” he explained.

“Mmhmm.” That bit of info would help if you had your phone or internet. All it did was give you a name to curse. You hated looking incompetent.

“Do you know how to refill it?” He was finally looking at you. Whether he was judging you or amused at your expense, you couldn’t tell.

“No, sir. I don’t. I’ve never had to. Pens just always come with ink when I buy them.”

“Well, in my day we didn’t discard everything.” He twisted the cap off and walked you through the steps. “You need to twist the piston until it lowers. Dip the nib into the ink bottle. Twist the piston in the opposite direction. Wipe off the nib and replace the cap. Not difficult.”

“Got it. Thank you, sir.” You grabbed the handful of pens and the ink bottle and took them to the kitchen. Laying out paper towels just in case, you filled all of the pens resulting in black-tipped fingers but the countertops were at least safe.

Reentering the office, Professor Rogers tapped an empty pen holder. You placed the pens inside and quietly returned to your work station.

Finally, you felt as though you were making progress. The trouble you had now was not reading ahead. There was so much about Captain America that you had never known. You’d been typing for at least 30 minutes before your name was called once more, eliciting a twitch from your right eyelid. You stood, gathered up your laptop, piled the legal pads on top of it, and carried all of your work to his office.

Professor’s Roger’s eyebrows rose as you placed the items in your arms on the coffee table in the sitting area of his office.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

You sat on the floor, crossing your legs in front of you. “I don’t like being yelled at or yelled for. I’m not a puppy.” Opening, the laptop once more, you picked up where you left off. “What did you need, sir?

“What did you eat for dinner?”

“What?” Was he seriously making small talk? How were you supposed to get anything done this way?

“Dinner. What did you eat?” he reiterated.

Did he really want to know? What had you eaten? The last few days were a blur of stress and overthinking. “Um. Pizza.”

“That wasn’t so hard to answer now was it? I’ll order us salads for lunch then.” He picked up his phone, his thumbs moving deftly over the screen.

He didn’t ask what you wanted. Just ordered. This job was going to take a lot more getting used to than you had anticipated. Did you care that he was deciding what you needed? Did food choice really matter when the meal was free? After all, it’s not like you had much choice in the dining hall. You ate what was served. Was this really any different?

*********************

Steve didn’t realize how empty the large house was with only him until she was there. Her presence was as distracting as it was soothing. He admired her resolve at performing the tasks he set before her. He knew she wouldn’t know how to use his antiquated technology. But he had decided that he liked having reminders of simpler times. Not that the advances made in the modern world weren’t useful.

He had been so close to buying her a typewriter but decided that would be too cruel. Although, the thought of her sitting behind one, the click of the keys, the bing of the bell, and the slide of the carriage reminded him of all the secretaries he had loved in the movies of yesteryear. She would have been irresistible especially in her little cardigans. Maybe even a skirt.

He watched her sitting on the floor diligently working. Determined not to let him treat her like a slave. Good. She had limits and a backbone after all. He liked knowing she would push back if needed and would be willing to say enough is enough.

But how long before she rebelled against him? Would she? Or would she allow him to dictate her day to day with him without any qualms? The suspense of not knowing was almost as intoxicating as finding the answers.

**********

Two weeks you had been secretly employed by Professor Rogers only Heather knew about your change in employment after you let it slip. So far she had kept your secret not wanting to get you into further trouble after you told Professor Rogers about your minor indiscretion. 

In those two weeks, the two of you had settled into a routine. You would arrive at this house to the sight of him hot and sweaty from a morning workout. You would start the coffee, refill his pens, empty the trash, and clear the office of any clutter that should not be there. All the tasks he would interrupt you to accomplish you added to a mental list of things to do before starting. It gave you longer stretches of time to work but also gave you a sense of pride that he seemed to be running out of chores for you.

He had removed the sitting area from his office and placed a desk from a spare bedroom in the corner facing his. You had an amazing view of the front lawn to the right and could steal glances of him to the left. For the most part, your days with him were spent in quiet work, the scratching of his pens and the clicking of your keyboard filling the space between you.

Professor Rogers’ reach extended beyond his office and classroom now. You still met with him to discuss your papers for his class. But your grades weren’t all he was out to improve. He had taken it upon himself to make sure you had a balanced diet. Always ordering food to counter whatever you ate when you weren’t with him. You started making healthier choices and were rewarded with occasional treats like milkshakes. When you decided to buy new clothes, you surprised yourself by texting options to him instead of Heather. When had his opinion become paramount?

Maybe it was because you knew so much more about him now. And you did. More than you could have imagined. You coveted the knowledge that only you possessed right now. Hoarding it until the day you had to share it with the world. Today, you couldn’t help but get swept away in the emotions of what you typed, sniffling and dabbing at your eyes, trying to make the screen clear again.

“What’s wrong?” Professor Rogers asked.

“Sorry. It’s just…you’re very lucky to have had a mom like yours. She worked so hard for you and that’s…well, it’s beautiful.”

“Your mother wouldn’t do the same?”

“Oh no.” Shaken your head, you chuckled into your Kleenex. “When I was little, I was her meal ticket. Everyone wanted to help and give the benefit of the doubt to a young mother with a baby. Even my dad. When I got older and they divorced, I became her best friend, someone to get mani/pedis with and dress in matching outfits. Once I hit high school, I became a liability…proof of her actual age. I think now she sees me as competition which is hilarious since she’s the one who flirted with any boy I ever tried to date.” You looked up to find him staring intently at you, heart freezing as you realized everything you had said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to word vomit all over you.” You never spoke about your parents. Why had you unloaded all that on him?

“Don’t apologize. I want you to feel like you can tell me anything. It’s only fair since you’re learning everything about me.” He smiled, a rare sight you’d discovered. Although, it seemed to appear more often now.

“True, but I had intended on remaining an enigma.” You laughed, flipping to the next page.

“I’m very good at discovering people’s secrets, you know.” He leaned back, blue eyes dancing with mischief. For once, it was easy to forget his actual age and just see him as a man in his thirties.

“You’re going to be very disappointed when you try to find mine.”

“You don’t have any secrets?” he questioned.

You turned your head back to your work. “Not really.”

“Maybe you just don’t know you have secrets yet.” A bird chirped in his desk drawer. He pulled out your phone, gazing at your screen. “Heather wants to know if you’ve asked me something yet.”

Heat seared through your body. You didn’t want to ask. You didn’t even want to go, but you had promised Heather you would try. “Oh, yeah.” You sighed. It was now or never. “I was wondering if I could leave early today?”

His arms crossed; the playful glint that had been in eyes darkened. “Why?”

“Heather invited me to a costume party for Halloween. She’s been pestering me for days.”

“Do you want to go to the party?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like it could be fun.” Guilt crept through the embarrassment settling in your stomach.

Professor Rogers glared at your phone before putting it down. “Fine. But I still expect you to be here, ready to work, first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” You knew you should be excited to finally be getting out. Doing what most college students do. But you could help but feel like you had disappointed Professor Rogers. The thought of disappointing him, you realized, hurt more than the fear of Heather’s disapproval.

************

Steve checked your location once more on his phone. You were still on campus. He walked through the store; the Halloween section was pretty well picked through. He needed something that would hide his face. Something no one would expect him to wear. He smirked as he grabbed the one costume left in his size.

He drove home, changed and waited. Sitting in his car, he watched the little dot traveling along the map, waiting to see where it would finally stop. Stop it did.

He pinned her location to a popular club. Slipping the bouncer a fifty, he passed all the people queued outside waiting for entrance. All the attendants were masquerading; drinks flowed freely as shots and glasses never stayed full for long. The music pounded in his skull. The last time he had seen this much skin was passing through the red-light district in Amsterdam with Tony and Nat. Finding a corner to lurk in, he scanned the room for her.

“Hey man!” A drunken Iron-Man’s hand came down on his shoulders. “Awesome costume, bruh. Captain America and Iron-Man. We’re like Avengers.”

Steve steadied the young man on his feet. “I think I see a Black Widow over there. Wouldn’t you rather play Avengers with her?”

“Fuck yeah.” The drunk Iron-Man stumbled off in search of a woman who didn’t exist.

Maybe dressing as himself was a bit of a risk, but if everyone was that inebriated, he wouldn’t be recognized. His eyes traveled over the crowd. It was hard to tell who was on the dance floor. He took a deep breath and concentrated. This was no different than any other stakeout. Find your objective. Observe. Don’t be seen.

There she was, hidden again the wall. Black cat ears on her head. Her eyes were painted with thick eyeliner with fake eyelashes brushing her cheeks when she blinked. Her outfit made him want to throw a jacket over her and drag her out. A black tank top, her bra straps showing, tight pants, and high heeled boots. He’d never seen these items before. They had to belong to that harlot, Heather.

Resisting the urge to break the neck of every boy that craned to look at her, he watched as she nursed her watered-down drink. Heather brought her a fresh glass and introduced her to a guy, leaving him with her as Heather joined the masses on the dance floor.

Her eyes darted across the room. For a small minute, Steve thought they locked with his. He stepped behind a pillar. When he peered across the club again, she was gone. By the time he found her again, she had deserted Heather’s offering and was stumbling towards him. He froze as she approached him.

“I like your costume!” She shouted. She tugged on the star emblazoned on his chest, pulling him down. “You’re my favorite Avenger. But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret,” she slurred loudly into his ear. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned away.

Steve’s heart stopped. She was drunk. She shouldn’t be here. Just as he was wondering how he could get her home; she threw her arms around a boy with blue hair and studded collar a few feet away.

“You wanna get out of here?” she asked loudly, competing with the din of the club.

The boy smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Let’s go, babe!”

Following the two as they walked arm in arm, Steve teeth ground. He stood there powerless as she entered an Uber with that boy and drove away. He couldn’t even follow her in this stupid costume.

He walked down the street to his parked vehicle. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he swore as he followed their progress from his phone. She was walking to her dorm. Was he still with her? Was she taking him back to her room? He threw his phone down on the passenger seat. One thing was clear. He’d obviously been too soft with her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes their relationship to the next level leaving you confused and craving more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- Okay, ladies and gents. This is where the story starts getting a little more grey. If you’ve seen and enjoyed the movie Secretary…you’ll be fine. Kinda dub/con-ish maybe? This chapter was going to be longer but it’s been so long since I updated…I found a good for me stopping place.

The next morning started much too early. The sound of your alarm set off a slight ache that pushed and pulled along your temples. You rubbed the crusted sleep from the corners of your eyes, willing them to focus as you fumbled for the offending phone, beeping impatiently at you.

“Ugh, shut that fucking thing off. Why?” Heather croaked from across the room.

“Sorry. I still have to work…” Reaching for a water bottle on your dresser, you attempted to wet the cotton that was apparently lining your mouth. This was why you didn’t imbibe on a regular basis. Hangovers were rarely worth a few hours of fun. 

“I can’t believe he’s making you come in today. Can’t you call in?” she groaned.

You wouldn’t even if you could. You loved going to Professor Rogers’ house. The routine and the work and… “Nope. Not possible. I already asked him to leave early yesterday. He told me he expected me this morning.”

Heather rolled over pulling her covers to her ears. “Sucks to be you.”

You were glad you had showered the night before. It only took a few minutes to get ready. Soon enough you left your grumpy roommate to exchange her company for your boss’.

***********

Waving to the guard at the gate, he greeted you by name before letting you in. The drive was so familiar to you now that it somehow felt more natural driving to his house than driving home ever did. The long sweeping driveways to the stately homes was a vision you would never be over.

Parking your car in front of his house, you prepared yourself for your favorite part of the day. Professor Rogers greeting you at the door. The fact that you had yet to reach out to touch his sweat-slicked skin was a testament to your self-control.

You took a deep breath, willing your stomach not to flutter in its still sensitive state. Knocking and waiting, the door swung open and much to your utter disappointment a buttoned-up sky blue cotton greeted your eyes.

“Good morning. Did you get many trick or treaters last night?” you asked with a smile.

Professor Rogers stepped to the side, giving you a wide berth to cross his threshold. There was no greeting. No banter. Just the sound of the door closing behind you as entered the office.

A knot formed in your throat as you placed your phone on his desk. A hot mug of coffee already sat next to his notepads. The pens already filled.

“Wha—” The words died as you turned and saw chairs and table back in the place your desk had sat for the last few weeks. “Where’s my desk?”

“I moved your workstation back to the other room.” He rounded the desk, sitting down and taking your phone to place in his drawer.

“B-but why?”

Finally, he looked at you. The warmth his blues eyes once reflected wasn’t there. There was a distance in his very presence now. Although you were mere inches away, a gulf had grown between you.

“I have deadlines to meet. Something proving impossible with your constant foot-tapping, muttering, nail-biting… Disgusting habit.”

“Oh.” Your fingers curled, trying to hide the proof of his criticism. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was such a distraction.” Turning away, you walked across the foyer. You might have well been sent to time out for all the guilt you felt. Had your habits really been that bad? Why hadn’t he said something sooner? What else had you been doing that bothered him?

There had to be a reason he was suddenly so harsh. Maybe it really was just his upcoming deadline. Hopefully, he would return to himself once the stress had passed. Until then you would just have to wallow alone in the dining room wishing you were closer to him.

***********

Steve watched her as she walked away. She didn’t appear hungover, maybe tired but not ill. The thought of her awake late into the night in the arms of that boy…his teeth ground against each other as he exhaled.

He grabbed her phone and unlocked it. Scrolling through her texts and apps to see if his spyware missed anything, he found nothing. Of course, he knew he was looking for a blue-haired boy but who knew what he looked like out of costume. What could she possibly see in him? He thought she would have had more refined tastes.

And yet, she had kissed him, well Captain America, last night. She hadn’t known it was him but it meant something. Didn’t it?

Closing all her apps, he put her phone back in her desk. Surely, if she was in a relationship he would have known. Was it a one-night stand? How may had touched what should be his?

It was time to tighten the reigns. He’d been letting her get away with far too much for far too long.

***********

Your fingers, dancing over the keyboard, jumped as your name echoed through the house in a tone you didn’t recognize. Heartbeat racing, you rose.

“Yes, sir?” you asked with a timidity you thought you had grown passed.

“Is it too much to ask you to proofread your work?” he snapped.

“Well, I go through it looking for spellcheck errors.”

“That’s the problem with people today. Always expecting others to do the work. Too reliant on technology. Does this look like something I could turn into my editors?” He tossed a printed chapter in front of you. Red circles littered the pages. “If I wanted to look illiterate, I would have typed the damn thing myself.”

Forcing yourself to stare at the offending pages, you muttered, “I’m so sor–”

He cut you off, rubbing his temples. “Don’t apologize. Just fix it.”

Sitting once more, you placed the pages on the keyboard and read. Missing articles. Their instead of there. So many stupid mistakes a simple spellcheck wouldn’t catch. You wiped the sweat from your palms on your thighs. Unconsciously, your fingers had found their way into your mouth, teeth nibbling at your stubby nails. Tears stung the corners of your eyes as you sniffled.

Breathing deep, you opened the document on the computer and began finding and fixing all of your errors, each one making your cheeks burn. Were you going to lose your job? You couldn’t afford that. And truth be told, you’d be devastated. You craved the stability of the routine you had created with him. The lack of which was just as worrisome as everything else going on today. Each worry snowballing into fear. What would you do when he finished his book? No longer needed you? Was he already done with you?

************

Steve finished editing the next chapter with just as many errors as the first. He expected better of her. He straightened the stack of papers, tapping their edges against the wooden grain of the desk. How would she learn, improve if he didn’t hold her accountable for her mistakes?

He could hear her muttering to herself as he neared the dining room. Slowing his approach, a series of sniffs interrupted the flow of mumbled words. Looking around the corner of the arched entrance, he saw her rocking slightly, hands clasped at her chest, shining eyes scanning her screen back and forth as her lips moved. His anger and jealousy seemed to fade as he remembered the first time he saw her. All tense and timid, yet eager to please. Wound up so tight. In need of release.

They were both in need now.

***********

Raising your eyes from the white glow of the screen, you saw Professor Rogers watching you.

“Follow me,” he ordered.

This was it. He was going to fire you. You would have to find a new job. Maybe you could beg for your old one back. Maybe you could beg for this one.

He placed a stack of papers you recognized as another chapter covered in red on the desk. He motioned for you to stand near the desk. “Place your hands on the desk on either side of your work. Bend over the desk and start reading.”

Hesitating, you replied, “I’m not sure I understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. Bend over the desk. Read.” His countenance was impassible. 

Heat from your hand created an outline of condensation on the polished wood surface. The beat of your pulse rushed to your ears. Inhaling deeply, you focused on the task at hand. Your voice faltered as you stumbled over the missing article that should have been between two circled words.

**_Smack._** The sound of his palm coming down in a sharp decisive swat against your ass filled the room. Gasping, you looked back over your shoulder.

Professor Rogers was behind you, hand raised. “Keep reading,” he said, his voice even.

Swallowing, you continued, receiving a spank for each mistake you had made. It was harder to pay attention to your task while ignoring the warmth of your backside and the slickness building between your thighs. A moan slipped past your lips with the last impact. Your body froze with the realization of what you had just done before you realized he was breathing just as heavily as you were.

Professor Rogers sat back down at the desk. His eyes stared into yours. “How do you feel?”

How did you feel? What the hell just happened? He spanked you and now he was asking how you felt? Standing, you searched for an answer. You were confused, of course. And yet, you felt lighter. The anxious tension had melted away leaving your muscles lax. Everything seemed to tingle and ache in a familiar way that made you want to stretch out in bed enjoying the sensations. The afterglow.

Your cheeks felt feverish as you answered truthfully. “Better.”

“Good.” He lifted the stack of papers you had just recited, handing them too you. “Get back to work.”

**********

Steve’s pants pressed painfully against his erection. She had done beautifully. Her body relaxing into his ministrations. The little moan was almost his undoing. He knew she hadn’t meant to. It had come so naturally. So effortlessly.

He palmed his dick and groaned. Had he gone too far too soon? Had he let his emotions get the better of him? Would she run? Would she hate him?

No. She was different. He knew she was. She would realize how well they complemented each other. How their strengths and weaknesses would balance.

He would take care of her in ways she never would have known she needed. She would give him the sense of purpose he had been missing for some time.

************

Sitting at the table, your thoughts played over and over in your mind making work near impossible. The most confusing thing had been your own reaction. Shouldn’t you have stopped him? Shouted? Done something?

But you hadn’t and worse than that you couldn’t deny the dampness soaking through your panties. You had enjoyed it. The fear and excitement, even the pain. What was wrong with you? Pushing those answers deep inside, you set to work with more determination than ever.

Finishing the first chapter quickly, you waited by the desk as he read over the newly printed pages, watching him scan, the red pen twirling between his long thick fingers. As he laid the last piece of paper on the desk in front of him, he looked up at you and said, “Excellent work. Good girl. Now go finish the rest.”

Biting your lip, you held back the smile that threatened to betray your feelings. The day had started so poorly but has somehow turned around. You weren’t quite sure what it all meant but you knew you preferred these feelings to the ones that consumed you this morning.

***********

Steve exhaled as he watched her drive away. Today had been a revelation for him, a glimpse into what life could be like. Once she accepted it and understood how good it could be. How perfect.

Blue and leather flashed in his mind. He would have to do something about that. Something to make her realize her true feelings. A plan started to form, one he hoped would open her eyes.

***********

Clouds gathered in the sky as you walked across campus. Professor Rogers’ mood had improved over the last few weeks along with your work ethic. Heather joked after class one day he must have gotten laid. The thought of him with another woman turned your stomach, but you laughed knowing that that wasn’t the case since he spent most of his free time with you. Alone.

Although the spankings had continued when you failed to meet his standards, he had never touched you in a way you would consider purely sexual…the lines were so blurred. Anticipation and adrenaline simmered through your body whenever he was near. There were times you had been sure he felt the same tension between you but he never acted on it.

Your desk had been restored to his office. In order to please him, you started getting manicures to keep yourself from gnawing at your fingers. He gently tied your ankles to the chair legs with scarves to keep your feet from tapping. A day of that and your habit was broken and a new fantasy born. It had been days since the last time he had had to make any corrections. The thought of making typos on purpose had crossed your mind, in fact, it was your favorite daydream. 

Was it some weird 1940’s thing? You had seen old advertisements with housewives bent over the husband’s knee for buying the wrong coffee, but was that actually a thing or just an advertising joke? Was he actually trying to punish you or calm your nerves when the stress of everything got too much for you? Did the why’s even matter to you when all of you ever thought of was the next when?

Crossing your arms, you leaned into the wind that sent fallen leaves swirling around your ankles. Professor Rogers had texted you to come by his office this afternoon. Paying attention to lectures had been impossible knowing he wanted to see you sooner than usual.

It was strange walking to his office when people were still loitering in the halls. Usually, you had most of the building to yourselves when you met together. If they knew, if any of them knew what he was really like. No one would ever believe that straight-laced Captain America had bent you over his desk on more than one occasion.

Knuckles rapt against the door as per normal teacher-student interactions. No need to act too familiar. His voice sounded from within granting entrance. The door swung open and you were greeted with the sight of a tall slender woman sitting on the edge of the desk laughing with Professor Rogers.

Your stomach dropped. She leaned forward swatting his shoulder as he grinned up at her from his chair.

He glanced at you. “You’re here.” He briefly introduced you. The woman, Ms. Yvonne Winslow, looked you up and down before nodding in your direction. “Would you mind running to the student coffee shop and getting us one cappuccino and one coffee?”

Errands? He wanted you to get them coffee? Like you were his servant? You reminded yourself that you were his employee. But you had let yourself believe you were more. “Yes, sir,” you replied trying to mask the disappointment that settled unpleasantly in your stomach.

No sooner had you made it back outside, the heavens decided to mirror your feelings. Cold rain drenched your jacket within minutes. Your hair was stuck to your face and neck.

Your teeth clenched, trying not to chatter as you ordered your coffee and waited. Maybe you should get yourself one too to warm you up but nothing sounded appetizing right now.

Holding the cups close to your body, you leaned over them hoping the rain wouldn’t cool off the warm liquid before you could get back to your destination. Each blast of wind chilled you to the bone. The early excitement you felt walking this path was replaced with apprehension. Who was she? What was she to him?

Lost in thought, you fumbled for the doorknob. Pulling the door open while balancing the coffee, praying they didn’t spill, you realized much too late you should have knocked.

Yvonne’s hands rested on Professor Rogers’ shoulder. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, rubbing off the lipstick left behind with her thumb. “I’ll see you for dinner tonight. 7 p.m. Our normal spot.” She turned in her high heels and let him help her into her expensive coat. Tying a sash around her waist, she glanced at you. “Oh, there you are. I was worried you drowned.” She took the coffee from your hands. “Seems I wasn’t far off. Thanks for the coffee. Bye Steve.”

“Bye, Yvonne. Well seems like you have the evening off. Why don’t you take a few days off? I’m sure you have some big assignments due this week, and we’ll meet on Friday to discuss what needs to be done after we come back from Thanksgiving?” he leaned against the desk behind him, hands gripping the edge of the wood. “Go back to your dorm, get dried off, and warm.”

Dripping on the office rug, you stared at the open door Yvonne just exited. She kissed him. They were going out tonight. You felt like an idiot standing there. Placing his coffee on his desk, you turned and left.


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting at your desk, your teeth chattered and body shivered from the bone-deep chill that still clung to your skin. Your clothes hung on hooks dripping onto a towel on the floor.

You stared at the screen before you, trying to concentrate on your last paper. All you had to do was correct this, finish a presentation, and you would be done until finals.

But visions of long legs and blonde hair kept intruding on your thoughts, making attending to your task near impossible. Of course, she was the type of person he would be with. Sophisticated. Elegant. What were you compared to her?

Your own parents merely tolerated you. Why would Professor Rogers be any different? He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he want a college student who couldn’t even declare a major?

Closing your laptop, you promised yourself to finish your corrections tomorrow. Climbing into bed, you shivered as you pulled the covers high over your shoulders, ignoring the warm tears that flowed to your pillow.

******************

Steve sat across the table from Yvonne who sipped delicately at her white wine. His literary agent for over a year, she had helped him shop for a publisher and editor after he had proposed his book idea to her. He probably could have gotten published on his name alone but wanted to make sure his books fell into the right hands. And that those hands didn’t take advantage of him, his name, and his reputation.

“Well now that we’ve got all the chit chat out of the way…Don’t make me hunt you down again. It’s not like you to ignore my calls.” She stared intently, waiting for a reply.

She was right. It wasn’t like him. But neither was asking her to come to his office. He knew she would track him down if he ghosted her. “You’re right. I apologize. It was rude and thoughtless. I guess the end of the semester and deadlines just got to me.” He cut into his food, taking a bite into his mouth.

“Really?” Her eyebrows raised. “You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with your little go-for today? She looked like I killed her puppy.”

Steve nearly choked. He wasn’t that transparent, was he? After years of reconnaissance and undercover training, he couldn’t mask a…what was this? A crush? An infatuation? An obsession?

“She’s just typing for me,” he managed to say, hoping it sounded more convincing than it felt.

“Mmhmm.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “You need to watch out. The last thing you need is some student going all Fatal Attraction on you.”

“Fatal what?” he asked, ready to add it to the list of never-ending references he didn’t quite get.

Yvonne shook her head and sighed. “It’s a movie where a woman…never mind. Just be careful. You don’t need a scandal right before your book comes out.” She smiled adding, “On second thought, a scandal with America’s Golden Boy would send sales through the roof.”

Steve set down his fork, pushing his finished meal away from him. “There is no scandal. She’s just a student who needed a job. You know typing isn’t my strong suit.”

“Neither is fiction, Steve. But keep telling yourself that.” She stood to go. “I’ll take care of the bill and I want you to take care of yourself.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and left him staring after her.

Maybe he was making a mistake. Maybe he should back off. Could he though? For all his talk of self-control, it seemed he’d finally met his match.

****************

You had been grateful for the work and classes that kept you busy the last few days. Anything to keep you from thinking of him. And her.

The truth was work was all you could do. Eating and sleep seemed impossible. By Friday, you were exhausted but made it through your presentation and other classes. The only thing keeping you going was the thought of seeing Professor Rogers later that day. Whether you were looking forward to it or dreading it was anyone’s guess. But all your energy was wasted as you received a text postponing until tomorrow morning and redirected into wondering why.

*******************

The next morning you felt like death. There was no way you were going to call in though. Throwing on a sweatshirt and jeans, you drove to his house ignoring the subtle throb of your temples.

He answered the door, dressed and smiling which only made you feel worse. His smile faltered as he greeted you. “Rough week,” he asked, leading you into the office.

“You could say that.” Your eyes felt heavy and your mind was fuzzy.

“Well at least it’s over, and I’m sure you’re looking forward to going home for Thanksgiving.” He sat at his desk, watching you as you slumped in your chair.

“No, sir,” you responded flatly.

“Not looking forward to it?” he prodded. His arms crossed against his chest as he studied you.

“Not going home.”

His mouth opened and closed in disbelief. “What do you mean, not going home? Why?”

Sighing, you gathered your thoughts which seemed to be evading any sort of cohesion. “My mom is traveling with her newest boyfriend. I’m not invited to my dad’s. They’re going to his wife’s family’s home. I’m not exactly welcome there, not that I would want to go anyway.”

“What about your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.” Where had that come from?

He spoke slowly as if he was unsure of what to say. “Sorry, there were rumors of you going home with someone at Halloween. It made it through the faculty. It’s not my place to ask…”

“Halloween?” Your brows came together as tried to think of who would have even noticed. “Oh! No, no, no, no, no.” A smile tugged at your lips at the sheer ridiculousness of this conversation. Your brain did not have the strength to deal with this right now, but the fact that he thought you had a boyfriend needed to be fixed. “Aiden. He’s just a friend with a long-distance _boyfriend._ Neither of us is much for clubs so we decided to sneak out early once our roommates were occupied. He’s nice, but I am most definitely not his type.” 

Professor Rogers’ demeanor shifted. He seemed almost relaxed “What are you going to do all week? Alone?”

“I don’t know….” You had hoped to work with him, but Yvonne had ruined those dreams. You hadn’t considered that Professor Rogers would probably have people to celebrate with. Now you would be as pathetic as you felt. Eating leftover take out alone in your dorm. Not wanted. Not missed. Not remembered.

You stood swaying slightly, closing your eyes and praying that your body would decide whether it was hot or cold.

“Are you okay?” he inquired.

“Fine,” you lied. “I was hoping to get some work done today if that’s okay.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, ignoring all the aches and pains as you set about organizing the papers on your desk.

***************

Something was wrong. Steve wasn’t sure what he had expected today. He had to admit he hoped she would show signs of disappointed hopes, lovelorn eve. But this was too much. Much more than being overworked. Much more than jealousy.

She’d never admit to being tired or let it affect her work. She had too much pride to admit defeat. She’d always doubled down in the past. So what had changed?

A small cough and sniffle drew roused him from his thoughts. Was she crying? His eyes rested on her form so close and yet so closed off from him. Her body shook, fingers rubbing her temple. He had never seen her this way before. Had he misread the situation? Gone too far?

*********

You’d been reading the same sentence for minutes. And yet you still couldn’t make sense of it. Your eyes and brain seemed to have severed communication with each other today.

And yet, was it really their fault you couldn’t concentrate? Being this near to him and knowing that Yvonne had been closer made your stomach churn.

You felt awful the last few days but today your body seemed to mirror your feelings. Everything ached. Everything hurt.

You coughed again. All you wanted was to lay down and go to sleep. The thought of having to drive all the way back to school was enough to make you cry.

Tears welled in your eyes as you realized you were pitiful. No wonder no one wanted you. A tear slid down your cheek as you looked up to see Professor Rogers watching you. Surely, he could see you for the mess you were.

******

Steve stared at her. She looked so lost. So helpless.

Closing the distance between them in a few strides, he placed the back of his hand on her cheek, then her forehead. “Damnit, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

Scooping her up, she offered no resistance as he carried her to his room. Her body trembled against him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Shhhh.” Pulling back his covers, he laid you in bed. He removed your shoes and tucked in you. “Everything is going to be okay. You just need to rest.”

He watched her eyes close and waited a few minutes for her breathing to even out before he left. It had been decades since he was a sickly boy bedridden in a small apartment in New York. He knew what he needed to do. What his mother had always done for him.

*********

The smell of him surrounded you. Your eyes blinked as you realized you were laying down. In his bed.

You stumbled to the bathroom. It was the size of your entire dorm. A walk-in shower, a tub that looked like it could fit the whole Avengers team, and two giant closets on either side of the room, one filled with his clothes and the other empty. Finding the water closet, you took care of your needs and washed your hands, splashing a little water on your face as well.

Walking a few feet felt like a marathon, but you made it back to the bed and searched for your shoes, finding them on the floor. As you tried desperately to shove your foot inside the sneaker without bending over, Professor Rogers walked in.

“What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.

“I’m going back to the dorm.” You covered your mouth as a cough erupted from your mouth.

“No, you’re not.”

“I don’t want to get you sick.” Your shoe flopped to its side evading your attempts. Your head dropped as you sighed in defeat.

He knelt down taking your shoes away from you. “I can’t get sick.”

“Then I don’t want to impose.” You added with a mutter, “Or ruin your plans with Yvonne.”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t have any plans.” His hands went to the hem of your sweatshirt pulling it over your head leaving the t-shirt underneath. “And Yvonne has other clients to deal with.”

“Clients?” Your brows furrowed in confusion. Where you hearing him correctly or was your brain just that fuzzy?

“She’s my literary agent. She wanted to make sure I was working…she doesn’t get commission if the book is never finished.”

“Agent?” you repeated, relief loosening some of the tension in your stomach. “So, she’s not…” you let your voice trail off not wanting to embarrass yourself further.

Smiling, his fingers went for the button on your jeans. “We’re just colleagues.”

“What are you doing?” you squeaked as you realized he was tugging on your pants.

“You’re staying here until you’re recovered. You’ll be more comfortable out of these jeans.”

You swatted his hands away. “I don’t need your help.” You pulled at the waist of your jeans.

He was undeterred as he worked them down your thighs. “Yes, you do.”

“I can’t stay here.” You squirmed. “It wouldn’t be right.” Your hands tugged at your shirt, stretching the material to shield your plain panties. Modesty went out the window, as he lifted your leg to help you step out of your pants, your hands flying to his broad shoulders to regain your balance.

“You don’t have a choice. You can accept it or you can fight it, but it’s happening.” He tossed your jeans to the side, then slipped off your socks. Standing over you, he pulled back the covers and pointed to the bed.

Crawling under the covers, surrendering for now as another wave of exhaustion overtook you.

Tucking you in his low voice softly floated down to you. “You’re mine now. And you will do everything I say until I think you are well enough.”

“I’m just going to take a quick nap. Then I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.” The comfort of his bed might though as the foam hugged your body, a far cry from the springs that stabbed you nightly at school.

Bending over you, his fingers turned your chin to face him. “If I have to take you over my knee then tie you to this bed then I will.”

Eyes already closed, you snuggled into his pillow. “Can’t threaten me with a good time.”

Professor Rogers laughed, leaving you to wonder if you had accidentally said that out loud as you fell asleep once more.

********************

Steve checked on her as she slept. Each time he touched her cheek, she felt warmer than before. How warm was too warm?

He called a nurse’s hotline, thankful for the convenience but wishing he could call a doctor for a house visit. The nurse said to force liquids and explained when she needed medical intervention if the fever got too high or lasted too long. Until then avoid dehydration and keep her comfortable.

Guilt twisted his stomach as he watched her illness progress. This was his fault. He thought back to how she could have gotten sick and the sight of her dripping wet, holding two coffees in his office flashed in his mind. Had she taken care of herself, drying and warming her body to prevent catching cold…no. Add the stress of the end of the semester it was no wonder she was sick.

He shouldn’t have put her in that situation. He should have been strong enough to wait for her. But no, he had to push. To prove to himself that she had the same feelings for him that he had for her. That he was more important than that boy…what was his name? Aiden. But what good were those feelings for each other as long as he was her professor?

******************

Coolness spread against your forehead, down your cheeks, across your eyes. Reaching up, your hand was stopped as another larger and warmer wrapped gently around your wrist.

“Shhhh,” a deep voice reassured. “It’s just a washcloth. Why don’t we sit you up and drink some water?”

You wanted to obey. To soothe your dry throat. But your body felt heavy. Weak.

His arm went under you, adjusting you upright while bringing a glass to your lips with his other hand. “Drink. That’s a good girl. Take these.” He offered you two pills. “When was the last time you ate?”

Closing your eyes, you shrugged. When was the last time you had a proper meal? Yesterday? The day before? In your haze of misery and schoolwork, hunger hadn’t really touched you.

He grunted in disapproval and left the room.

You tossed and turn in a feverish nightmare. A tangle of sheets that were suffocating and frigid in turns.

Hours or minutes later, you couldn’t tell, your pillows were moved and your body positioned against them so you sat at an incline.

“Sweetheart. You’ve got to eat something. I made you some soup.”

You lolled your head towards the voice, low and soothing. Professor Rogers sat on the chair next to the bed, a tray with a bowl and glass of water laid on the nightstand. You watched his hands lay a napkin across your chest. His lips pursed as he blew on the spoon filled with broth. His eyes filled with concern as he brought the spoon to your lips.

The chicken was tender, noodles soft, carrots and celery just the right texture. No metallic taste leftover from a can. It was the best soup you’d ever had. After a few swallows, the need to sleep once more overcame you, and you turned your head away.

“A little more, honey,” he pleaded. His knuckles caressed your cheek.

You would do anything for him as long as he kept looking at you like that.

*********

The rest of the day Steve checked in on her as she fitfully slept in his bed. Her fever rising despite his best efforts. Seeing her in pain and discomfort pulled at his emotions more than he thought possible.

Around midnight, he laid his palm on her cheek. As he lifted it away, her hand reached for his from under the covers.

“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded.

His stomach clenched; breath caught in his throat at the plaintive request. Toeing off his shoes, he crawled into bed next to her. Pulling her close, feeling the heat emanating from her body, he wrapped his arms around her, savoring the feel of her against him. Closing his eyes, he slept.

** Author’s Note- **This was supposed to be longer but I just wanted to get something out to all of you who have so patiently waited. I want to thank y’all for always being respectful and kind. I love getting notes knowing that you still care about this story even when it’s been months. Those have really motivated me to try my hardest to get this written. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary- Steve helps you recover from your recent illness.
> 
> Word Count- 4.5K
> 
> Warnings- Spanking, very very very very mild possible dub/con I’m not really sure but I’ll throw that out there just in case. If you have read and liked my other stories, you’ll be fine.
> 
> A/N- Ok, buckle up, buttercups. This has a healthy dose of angst, some fluff, and things start to heat up a bit. I can’t wait to see your reactions. Next chapter should be the last. I say should be because this was supposed to be like 2-3 parts max and here we are.

Three days. Three more days of hands on foreheads, spoonfuls of soup, and pleads of “one more sip of water.” Days of wet washcloths on heated skin as he bathed her body in hopes that feeling clean would bring her some measure of comfort. Watching her sleep fitfully, sweating through the sheets then shivering as chills would sweep through her body. Her temperature rising and falling but never abating. Steve had only felt this helpless once before, like hell would he let her slip out of his hands like _he_ did.

_Tomorrow_, he thought,_ if her fever doesn’t break…I’ll take her in tomorrow._ He tried to convince himself the reason he was reluctant to take her in was that she wouldn’t want to wake up in a hospital bed surrounded by machines and not because he wanted to hold her one more night.

Gathering her close to him, she whimpered as she nuzzled into his neck. The rhythm of her shallow breathing lulling him into an uneasy rest.

* * *

Sunlight started to peek through the blinds on the window. Steve glanced at the clock. It was well after the time he normally awoke. He had slipped in and out of sleep, waking at every movement, every sound his girl made.

She had rolled away from his embrace sometime during the early hours of the morning. Reaching across the bed, Steve placed his hand on her cheek. A sigh escaped his lips as they stretched into his first smile in days. The blistering heat that had radiated from her was tempered at last.

Slowly, lifting himself off the bed, he tried his best not to disturb her. The last thing she needed was to wake up in bed next to her professor.

* * *

Opening your eyes, first one then the other, the realization that you were not in your dorm or even at your mother’s slowly hit you. Sitting gingerly, you curled your knees towards you, wrapping your arms around them and leaned your forehead down, tired from such a minor change in position. Dreams of strong arms surfaced in your mind. Turning your head, you saw the bed was empty of any other occupant. You should have known it was just a dream.

The door to the bathroom swung open. You lifted your head to see Professor Rogers stepping out in the sweatpants you loved. His face sported a heavy line of scruff. His hands rubbed a towel against his wet hair vigorously, every muscle in his body flexing with each movement. You were either still dreaming or dead. The smile he gave you confirmed death.

“Professor Rogers, how long have I been sick?” you asked, your voice scratchy.

He sat down on the bed near your feet. “It’s Wednesday and I think it’s about time you called me Steve. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Your stomach flipped. You were definitely dead or hallucinating. “Tired, a bit hungry, and I’d really like to be clean.”

“I can help you with all of that.” He pulled back the covers and stood with his hands outstretched towards you waiting for you to take them.

Reluctantly, you let him help you, guilt at the burden you’d placed on him roiling inside you. He walked you to the bathroom and turned the shower on for you. His hands went for the hem of the shirt you wore, realizing for the first time it did not belong to you. “I’ve got it. Thanks,” you assured him.

He smiled, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He started for the door. “I ordered you some fruity soaps and stuff, the razor in there is yours if you feel like using it. Don’t feel like you have to. There’s a new toothbrush by the sink. I want you back in bed when you’re done.” He closed the door behind him.

Shaking your head, you realized you were in Professor Roger’s house, no, Steve’s house, sleeping in his bed, showering in his shower, and you even had your own toiletries. At what point had you moved in?

The scalding water felt so good against your skin. Smelling the soap he had purchased, you rubbed it against your body. You froze midway through your task. _Wait, _you thought,_ what did he mean nothing he hadn’t seen before? _No, you realized he must have meant in general. Of course, he had seen naked women. You weren’t anything special in a man who had lived lifetimes.

Minutes or maybe hours later you emerged from the shower, clean and smooth. It felt like you had scrubbed and rinsed years of layers down the drain.

Wrapped in a fluffy towel, you entered the bedroom, pausing momentarily as you noticed you weren’t alone. Steve finished turning down the bed and gathered an armful of dirty sheets. Another t-shirt and some cotton shorts in your size that you had never seen before waited for you on the bed. Had he ordered you clothes too?

“You ordered me toiletries and clothes but forgot underwear?” you muttered as you lifted the items hoping to find some panties hidden under them.

“Who said I forgot?” he teased.

Your eyes widened as you watched him leave. Nothing made sense. Was he flirting with you? Of course not, but why was he being so nice? He was probably just happy you would be well enough to leave soon.

Dressing quickly, you thought briefly about climbing back in bed until the smell of breakfast wafting through the air sent your stomach into a fit of twisting growls.

* * *

Scraping the bottom of the pan, fluffing up scrambled eggs, Steve turned at the sound of bare feet padding across the floor. Frowning, he watched her sit at the table. “I thought I told you to get back in bed after your shower?”

“I’ve been there for, what, three days? I don’t want to be in bed anymore.”

He pushed a few slices of bread into the toaster and scraped the eggs onto two plates. “Now, young lady.”

Her arms crossed in front of her chest. “No.”

He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at her, his hand twitching as thoughts of appropriate discipline for such disobedience flashed in his mind.

“Please, Steve,” she pleaded. Her eyes searched his as her lip curved in the slightest pout.

His stomach erupted into a fluttered frenzy and the sound of his name on her lips melted the tension he had just been holding in his body. He knew right then and there he could never really deny her anything she wanted. “You may lay on the couch. I want the blanket covering you.”

She smiled at him and retreated to the living room. _Damn. _It was the first time a woman had been able to bend him to her will. Others had tried and failed. He never backed down once he had given an order. Never. He expected complete submission. Why wasn’t he carrying her back to his room over his shoulder this instant?

He buttered the toast and added some fresh fruit to their plates before carrying them to the living room. He didn’t usually eat anywhere but the kitchen. However, he decided that for now, he could bend a few rules since he was going to feed her breakfast in bed anyhow. He groaned at his rationalizations. He needed to regain control and fast before she figured out the power she actually had over him.

After breakfast, she napped on the couch while he wrote in his notepad. The domesticity of the scene felt so different and yet so familiar. He searched back to when he had last felt this way. It was another time, in a small apartment, long before wars and serums. He shouldn’t feel this way. He had never expected it to go this far. It never had before. Never expected to feel like he was finally home.

* * *

Soft touches grazed your cheek. Turning your face into the caress, you opened your eyes to see Steve staring down at you.

“Sit up, time to eat.” He tucked a napkin into your shirt as you shifted up to sitting. Handing you a bowl and a spoon, he took a seat next to you on the couch and began to eat as well.

The soup was warm and even better than you had thought in your fevered memories. “This is really good. Where did you learn to cook?”

He took the time to take another mouthful before answering. “My mother taught me. I was sick a lot as a child. She was constantly making soup.”

Reflecting on what you had read about Sarah Rogers, you said, “She took really good care of you. You’re very lucky.”

“She did. And I was. We were all each other had after my father passed away. She always fussed over me.” He paused and looked away. “She did the best she could.”

You chased a carrot around the bowl with your spoon. “It must be nice to know she loved you. Not every parent does. I can’t remember the last time anyone really took care of me. My mom would open a can of soup or ravioli on her way out the door and tell me to heat it up if I got hungry by the time I was seven. My dad only wrote checks my mom cashed and spent on herself.”

His brow creased between his eyes. “Actually, I hated it. It reminded me of weak I was. How sick I was. How much I couldn’t do for myself. I should have been more appreciative. I only wish I had gotten a chance to take care of her later on.” He cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you then turned his attention back to his meal.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get that chance. But thank you for taking care of me.”

The rest of your meal was silent. It was weird but comforting to hear him speak to you as if you were his equal rather than his employee or his student. It was nice to be near him without the stress of school or work or Yvonne hanging over you. Just you and him. But you knew it wouldn’t last. You’d be going back to the dorms soon. Then work and school would start again. And eventually, he would finish his book and you would graduate.

Placing the bowl on the coffee table in front of you, you pulled the light blanket over your shoulder and snuggled into the throw pillow leaning against the arm of the couch. Even though you’d been asleep the last few days the thought of the future wore you down as it always did. Sleep was easier than facing reality.

* * *

The sun had set and Steve knew he should carry her to bed. He argued with himself over where he should put her. He couldn’t sleep with her now and the knowledge that he may never hold her like that again frustrated him.

Staring at her, his heart ached at the thought of her small and little, having to take care of herself. Alone without comfort. She should have someone there for her, to make sure she was safe and healthy. Someone who would do what was right for her. Protect her. And he wanted it to be him.

Finally, he decided he would sleep in the guest room and let her sleep in his room since she was familiar with the layout and where everything was in there. And if his sheets still smelled like her after she left then that was just a happy coincidence.

* * *

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Steve said as you entered the kitchen the next morning. He looked more like a lumbar jack than a pilgrim in his red plaid shirt and jeans.

“It’s Thanksgiving?” You rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You had woken up feeling more yourself than you had in weeks. Your aches and pains gone after a good night’s sleep.

“Go rest on the couch.” He poured you some coffee and passed you a mug. “The parade should be starting soon.”

“I just woke up. I could help you in here.” You looked around the kitchen taking notice of the meal preparations already underway.

“No need. Everything came cooked except the turkey. I just have to heat the rest up.” He rolled his sleeves up his forearm.

“You ordered an entire Thanksgiving meal?” Why would he do that? Had he canceled plans to stay here and nurse you? “If you have other places to be, I can go back to school.”

He turned on the spot. “You are staying here. I didn’t cancel anything. I usually go to New York, but I wanted to stay here to work on my book. Tony ordered the meal for me, knowing I wouldn’t celebrate if he didn’t…or maybe Pepper did. Either way. I am thankful to have someone to share it with.”

Heat spread across your face. “I’m thankful I’m not eating pb and j.”

“Good. That’s settled. Go drink your coffee on the couch.”

“I’d be more thankful if I didn’t have to sit anymore.” You batted your eyes, grinning as you saw him falter.

“You are recuperating. You have reviews and finals coming up. You really want to miss out on a chance to rest?”

Glaring, you hated that he was right. You didn’t want to sit and rest anymore. You wanted to do something, anything that might make you feel like less of a burden. But if you relapsed, you would be a bigger one. Not to mention rescheduling all those exams, if the professor’s even let you, would be such a monumental hassle.

Sinking into your favorite corner of the couch, you turned your attention to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on the television until it was time to eat. The small feast was surprisingly intimate. He let you sit at the table this time which was set for two, candles glowing in the center of an impressive spread. The food was delicious. Turkey moist and golden brown. Potatoes creamy and swimming in gravy. Sweet potatoes adorned with little marshmallows. After days of soup, you ate until your belly distended in discomfort.

You tried to remember the last time you had an All-American Thanksgiving. It must have been years ago when your grandparents were still alive. Once your grandma was no longer around to cook the meal, your mother resorted to ordering Chinese takeout. The aromas coming from the table and songs from the screen should have evoked some sort of nostalgia but they didn’t. Every year after this, you knew they would and you would long for the one holiday you spent with Steve. No one should be this close to happiness without a hope of ever sustaining it.

* * *

The meal over and dishes were done. It was time to watch football. She seemed more relaxed, maybe it was just the tryptophan. But she bantered with him about movies and music. She asked him about what he missed most about the ’40s. Most people only asked what he likes best about the present assuming he should be grateful to be here.

Her smile was freely given, less shy and reserved as they talked. Her laughter at his enthusiasm for the game infectious. He was finally getting a glimpse of the woman behind the stress and anxiety. The woman that was more than just an employee and student.

Just as a pass was heading to the end zone, the picture on the screen changed to a scene of a man and woman wearing coats and scarves, sipping hot cocoa along the street of a small town.

“Noooo!” he yelled, his arms flying above his head. “What happened?” The giggling next to him clued him in. Clutched in her hands was the remote, her eyes bright with mischief. “Give it here.” He reached out his hand motioning with his fingers.

“No. Football is boring.” She snuggled the remote to her chest. “Hallmark is starting their Christmas movies.”

“Give me the remote, little girl.” She was going to have to learn that she was not in control.

“No.” The corners of her mouth quirked before she schooled her face once more.

That little brat was enjoying this. She was teasing him. Two could play that game.

Steve reached across the couch before she could register what was about to happen. Grasping her wrists in one large hand, he pulled her over his lap in one fluid movement. Her forearms rested against the edge of the sofa, her knees propping her body from laying directly on him.

She tried to rise, but he kept her bent over him easily. “I’m sorry, Steve.” A nervous giggle punctuated her sentence.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Not yet. But you will be, Princess.”

His free hand came down against the curve of her ass with a loud smack. His cock hardened as a gasping moan filled the space between them. Her muscles tensed as his hand traveled up her inner thigh, ghosting along the hem of her light blue cotton shorts. He felt her lean back into his hand, seeking his touch.

She shrieked as he flipped her in his arms, cradling her against his chest. Their noses almost touching.

“There is one thing you should know about me by now, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Her teeth caught the bottom of her lip. Her eyes flicked momentarily to his lips.

He grasped the remote still clutched in her hands, ripping it from her grasp as he twirled her back to her corner where she landed in a disoriented sprawl. She tried to right herself but not before he glimpsed a darkening spot on the fabric between her legs giving away the arousal that gathered there.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want.”

* * *

Sleep had been impossible last night. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Steve’s fingers on your thighs. You could have sworn as he held you against him, looking down at you, close enough to kiss that you could feel the length of hardness pressing into your back. Your body ached for more, but there was no relief to be found. As much as the idea of touching yourself in his bed aroused you, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

You rose early, despite the frustrations, you felt good for the first time in a week. Determined not to let him keep you inactive any longer, you set about your routine like it was any workday. Coffee was brewing, pens were filled, and you were at your desk typing before he was done with his workout.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. Sweat actively dripped down his bare chest.

“I’m sitting. Still. Very still as I type. Which takes almost no physical exertion at all.”

His arms crossed and it seemed like he was battling himself over whether or not he would allow it. Finally, he said, “Fine,” and walked away.

Staring at his figure as he left, your thighs clenched. It had been so long since you’d had any relief. You knew you wanted more. Needed more.

* * *

Steve hadn’t expected her up so early. He should have known she would try to push her boundaries. Normally, this behavior would infuriate him. He’d had women in the past ignore his attempts to regulate their lives. But they did it to make him angry to prove that he wasn’t really in charge. He hadn’t felt any spite or malice coming from her. She probably was just bored. She had had to work so hard for so long. Staying still was probably just as hard for her as it was for him in the long run.

Still, he would have to make sure she had a quiet day. He would allow her to work as long as that was all she did.

* * *

Typing had ceased and you read your work, moving your lips silently, searching for any typos. _Would a typo be a bad thing? _you pondered. It should have been a bad thing. You shouldn’t crave the end result, but you did.

Stealing a glance at Steve sitting at his desk in a beige sweater and jeans, you knew he was doing his best to ignore you. He had brought you a blanket and hot tea. Made you lunch of leftovers and coaxed you into eating more than you felt you should. But other than that, he had been quiet.

You doubt he would point out any typos even if they were glaring at this point just to keep you in your constant state of convalescence. Hitting print, you waited for the pages to finish stacking on the paper tray.

Your foot started tapping as your mind fought to focus on the next chapter something you hadn’t done in weeks. His head shot up and his blue eyes glowered in your direction. Staring directly at him, you brought your fingers to your mouth and proceeded to bite at your manicured nails. His nostrils flared and jaw clenched but he dipped his head back down.

Your hands dropped to your lap, fisting the hem of your shirt. The printer next to you stopped. A sly grin crept across your face. Tapping the papers into a neat stack, you laid them on your desk. Dipping the tip of your finger into the now cold tea, you ran it along the bottom edge of the mug. You set the mug on top of the freshly printed chapter, rubbing it to insure a good smear. He couldn’t ignore you forever.

Crossing the few feet of distance between your desks, you placed the batch of papers on his desk waiting for him to see them. For him to finally see you.

Hand on his desk, you bent over pressing your forearms along the wood and waited. His eyes focused on the papers first, his back straightening, rigid and tense. As he sat back in his chair, his eyes darkened, his pupils dilating at the sight of you before him.

Never blinking, you maintained eye contact. Holding your breath, you waited to see what his reaction would be. Would he simply tell you to print it again? Or would he take the time to correct your mistakes?

* * *

Steve stared at the papers she set on the desk. A wet ring of tea soaking through the top pages. He had thought working would be a good thing. Give her mind something to do while her body rested. It would give them both something to focus on and help them revert to their old routine and relationship before classes resumed. But she had to push him. He did his best to let it all go. To ignore her attempts to rile him. Raising his eyes to see her ready and waiting for him was too much.

He stood and circled around her. Her shorts rode high enough to give him a peek of her backside. “Pull your shorts down.”

“Wh-what?” Her weight shifted on her feet.

“You really want me to repeat myself?”

“No…sir.” Her voice quavered but her hands reached back and pulled the shorts down to her knees.

How many nights had he dreamed of seeing her this way? Of taking her this way?

“You’ve been very bad today. I want you to tell me exactly what you’ve done that’s been bad.” He was painful hard watching her squirm, exposed to him.

Her breathing was uneven. Her fingers flexing against the desk. “I tapped my foot--”

“And what else?” He stepped closer to her, edging her feet apart a little further with his foot.

“I bit my nails.” Her voice by now was breathy.

Steve leaned over her body and whispered, “And?”

“And I got tea on your chapter on purpose.”

“On purpose? And just why would you do that?” He knew why. He wanted her to say it. To admit that she wanted this. That she wanted him.

“I-I-was bored.” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“You may have been bored, but that’s not why you’ve been trying to provoke me all day. Do you know what happens to bad girls who lie?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He started to walk away.

“No! I wanted…I wanted you to, um...” She took a deep breath. “I wanted you to s-spank me.” Her voice was barely audible. Her body shaking.

He turned and smiled. Triumphant over their battle of wills. “Now was that so hard?”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

Steve raised his hand, bring it down in one smooth swing. Her body rocked over the edge of the desk. His palm continued it barrage never striking the same place twice until she moaned with every spank, her knees buckling slightly.

His cock strained against his pants. Unbuttoning his fly, he pulled the zipper down and freed himself from the constraints. Standing behind her, he started to stroke himself listening to her panting as she tried to catch her breath. His pace quickened, imagining how it would feel to be buried deep inside her. He grunted as his fingers worked his shaft in long strokes until his hips jerked and he came in short spurts across her back.

Tucking himself back in his pants, he pulled up her shorts and sat back down at his desk. His forehead had a light mist of sweat beading on it. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “You should go shower,” he managed to say.

She stood, her eyes dazed and dreamy. Nodding, she stepped away from the room.

What had he done? He had never lost control before. Never.

What he had done was disgusting and unforgivable. He had taken this too far. She never asked for that. His career and her future were in jeopardy and for what? So he could play house with a woman who would now see him for the deviant he was. Why had he ruined everything?

* * *

Bubbles lathered over your skin; you scrubbed your back the best you could. But nothing could wash away the tender throb of your flesh. It was decadent. Every care, every worry gone. All that was left was that wonderful feeling of lightness that you craved as much as the pain.

The ending surprised you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Knowing he had responded that way to you. Knowing that he may want you too. Had he taken you right then you would have died of happiness.

Leaving the bathroom, you stopped at the threshold and stared at the bed. The t-shirt and shorts you had come to expect were nowhere to be found. Instead, the clothes you had arrived in days ago laid on the bed. Washed and folded next to your purse and car keys.

Dressing quickly, you went to find Steve in the office. He was working per usual.

“Steve?” you questioned timidly.

“Professor Rogers,” he corrected. “I think it’s time for you to go back to school. We both have classes to get ready for. We should take the weekend to prepare.”

Ignoring the stinging in your eyes the heralded tears, you asked, “You want me to leave?”

He wouldn’t look at you. “I think that would be for the best.”

Taking your keys and the remainder of your dignity, you left. How could one of the world’s greatest heroes be such a coward?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- Soooo, how are we feeling, gang? If you liked it and want more, let me know. Or if you want to curse me that’s cool too. I’m really looking forward to seeing y’all’s reactions to this one. lol.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay….I know. I know I keep saying this is the last chapter…I was wrong. Again. There will be one more. I swear this will end one day. Really. It totally will be done one day. Today is not that day. But I would rather you get this part now then wait for me to finish the whole thing which let’s be honest will take another month. This is best for both of us.

The dorm was a frenzy of people settling back in after a week at home with family. Everyone greeting and sharing stories of family traditions and foods. Heather had taken her partner home with her to introduce them to her parents. It had gone well and her relief and happiness were palpable. You tried your very best to listen and smile. Thankfully, in her bliss she could not see your own misery.

You had received an email ending your employment with promises of good references and a direct deposit for the rest of the year of severance pay. You had the nest egg you had wanted, but it felt tainted. Money that should have been earned through work now felt like payment for silence, painting what were the happiest days of your life with broad strokes of darkness, muddying the once bright and vivid memories. The thoughts that had made your heart flutter now made your stomach churn. How could everything had gone so bad?

There was no telling how the next week of classes was going to go. How could you face him? The last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of him or your classmates. You couldn’t skip this week. You needed the final lectures and reviews to help you with your exams next week. You didn’t even want to think about having to do this all over again next semester in the other history course you needed to fulfill your requirements.

As you sat in your desk the following Monday, waiting for the moment you saw him again, you fought back the bile that rose in your throat and the tears that threatened to form. You could do this. You would not show him how devastated you truly were. He wanted to be nothing more than your professor. Distant and unfamiliar. You would treat him with glacial civility.

The door opened, your stomach flipping at the creaking of the hinge. An elderly man walked through the door, carrying a briefcase in one hand and holding a cane in the other. “I’m Professor Cartwright. I will be with you this week and proctoring the exam for Professor Rogers.”

“Where is Professor Rogers?” someone in the back asked.

“No idea. It must be serious though. This is the first time in his tenure that he has missed a class. When he asked if I could cover his classes, I was happy to assist him as he has done so for me and other colleagues in the past.” He sat at the desk, looking old and frail as he pulled some papers from his leather case. He looked up to see a few more hands raised in the air. “Now, that’s all I know, and all I care to say on the matter. I have here the topics he wanted us to review and next class we’ll go over some possible essay questions for the exam.”

“I wonder if he’s sick,” Zach whispered to someone behind you.

“He can’t get sick,” you muttered under your breath.

All the despair and hurt you had felt over the weekend twisted in that moment to simmering anger. Your blood pumped furiously, adrenaline fueling the frenzy of feelings threatening to erupt. No, you knew the reason he wasn’t here. After all the battles he had run head first into, he couldn’t face you.

Steve sat at his desk, laptop in front of him. He tried to ignore the aching feeling in his gut every time he caught sight of the empty corner of his office, his eyes instinctively trying to steal glances of someone no longer there. He hadn’t realized what a reflex it had become until he tried stopping. He could almost understand his students’ obsessive need to glance at their phones every ten seconds now. The habit of looking at something that brings you a small rush of joy was addicting.

His fingers scrubbed the beard now growing on his face. He didn’t see any point in shaving. He wasn’t teaching for the rest of the semester. He thought it might be easier for her to concentrate without his presence. But how was he supposed to concentrate without hers?

His fingers poked at the keyboard, the words forming slowly as he searched for each letter. He’d tried to place his hands on the keyboard and type the way everyone else did with ease, but his fingers never seemed to hit the key he wanted. So, pointers it was. He’d almost thrown his computer against the wall yesterday, but settled for his coffee mug instead.

It wasn’t just the office where her absence was noticed. It was everywhere. The kitchen where she would make coffee before they worked. Whenever she made herself a cup, she would always use the same red mug. The mug that now sat front and center in the cabinet, untouched, unused, preserved. The living room where she nestled herself into the corner of the couch, snuggled against the arm. His bed that still held traces of her scent when he inhaled deeply into the pillow. The shower that still had her soaps sitting on the shelf, used only when he stroked himself thinking of her, washing his indiscretions down the drain.

But this was for the best, wasn’t it? He’d experienced loss before but this felt different, more acute which he had difficulty believing. He had always managed to soldier on. He would again for at the bottom of everything that was all he really was…a soldier. Sacrifice and duty always won.

Classes were done. Dorms were silent as everyone studied for finals. You walked with Heather towards the library, fallen leaves crunching under your shoes. Zach had asked you if you had wanted to join his study group. You had agreed as long as you could bring your roommate to ease the guilt you had felt in accepting his invitation. Spite quickly overrode that reaction as you remembered Professor Roger’s accusations at the beginning of the semester. He wasn’t there anymore. You had nothing to prove to anyone.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. You sighed when you saw the text. “Zach says he’s in study room C,” you read. Texting him back, you let him know you’d be there in 5 minutes.

Heather glanced at you. “Are you okay? You’ve just seemed down this week. I know you aren’t supposed to talk about your job, but if you need someone to talk to. I’m here.”

You knew you had been irritable and short with everyone, barely talking. And it had been easy to play it off as finals stress, but Heather knew you better than that. You wanted to rant and rave to her, but you couldn’t. Even if you weren’t his employee any more, that NDA you signed was still in effect. “I’m fine,” you answered as you had done several times in the last few days.

“It’s just,” she continued, “You’ve gone silent, and he’s gone missing. Did something happen?”

You adjusted your bag and pulled your jacket tighter against the chill in the air. “Nothing happened,” you lied. “He just didn’t need anyone to type for him anymore. That’s all.”

“Are you—”

“Heather, drop it, please. I have too much going on right now to worry about Professor Rogers on top of everything else. I’m just stressed for finals. I’ve never been a great test-taker, and so much is riding on these scores. Then after that I have to live with my mom until next semester. It’s just a lot, you know?” You quickened your pace, hoping the extra exertion would lessen the likelihood of more conversations. The faster you got to the library the better.

The truth was you weren’t fine. You were furious and miserable. You had lost your anchor and were adrift in a world where the weight once more rested solely on your shoulders. You missed the routine you had with him. Missed him picking out your meals and outfits. Those little decisions now seemed daunting and yet so tedious. The stress of exams and the loss of the security he had provided had taken its toll. Your nails were bitten to the quick, feet tapped as though they were trying to learn Morse code whenever you sat, and all your pens looked as though an animal had mauled them from the teeth marks that covered them. To make matters worse, it still didn’t make sense to you. Why had he turned so quickly and cut ties with no second thought? Had you really meant so little to him?

“Well if there’s anything I can do to help, you let me know, okay?” Heather said.

What you needed was a release. You had almost texted Professor Rogers, asking him in some versions and begging in others to let you come over to relieve you of your anxieties like he had so many times before bent over his desk. But you deleted each one. He probably thought you were pathetic to need such physical means to relax, and you didn’t need another rejection. Steps halting, you turned to her smiling. “Yeah, there is. When this week is over you can get me really drunk.”

Heather threw her arm around your shoulder. “That I can do.” The two of you hurried to your destination.

The punching bag swung, the chains securing it to the ceiling straining against the force of the blows that pounded against it in rapid succession, the windows of his home gym foggy from his exertions. But it wasn’t enough.

He needed a fight. Needed the distraction of righteous justice, inflicting pain on those that deserved it, taking down fascists and criminals, saving the world from those who would subjugate to distract him from the fact that he was really no different from those who sought obedience in the people around them.

Sweat stung his eyes as it dripped from his hair. He checked his phone again, his thumb opening the spy app he’d yet to delete. She had started texting with that prick Zach. Making arrangements to “study” with him. The worst part was knowing he may have pushed her into his arms.

_No, that wasn’t the worst part, _Steve thought, recalling the messages he had seen her type and quickly delete to him, seeking out his help to lessen her physical reactions to the stressors around her, one of which was him. He had wanted her to crave his touch. Crave the release she would feel under the weight of his palm. He had pushed her into the type of relationship he had wanted without any regard for what she actually needed.

She deserved more. She deserved to be in a traditional relationship with a man whose nature wasn’t as controlling and deviant as his. She was too young and would surely regret being manipulated into this lifestyle eventually.

When Steve first saw her, he knew she had the potential to fit a role he desperately desired. He wanted to find someone compatible with his need for control that he could take care of. He assumed it would just be a beneficial relationship for both parties until one grew tired of it. He had never anticipated his feelings to grow into anything deeper. Because he did want to take care of her, discipline her, play with her, and also love her.

He had never factored in such strong emotions in his life. He had done without them so far and didn’t see a reason to change. It would just complicate an already complicated situation. He thought he wanted her submission and obedience but that seemed to pale in comparison to what he wanted now. Her love.

How could she ever feel the same?

Music blasted from the small speaker connected to Heather’s phone. You stepped over a half-packed box to look in the mirror. The low-cut top and tight jeans looked good. You’d freeze in the parking lots tonight, but a jacket wasn’t exactly club appropriate. Making good on her word, Heather had already mixed a pitcher of blue Kool-Aid and whatever cheap clear alcohol she could procure. Having a buzz before you went out would save you money on water-downed drinks later. But what was more intoxicating was knowing all of your exams were finished, and you were free for a few precious weeks.

Hours later, alcohol and music flowed through your body. Dancing in a group of acquaintances, colored lights flashing, you smiled freely for the first time in weeks. It felt good to have the weight of school off your chest. Everyone seemed to be out on the town, and their celebratory energy was contagious as they swayed and sang to the music blaring around them.

Heather’s partner met up with her. They danced as though they belonged in the Catskills, teaching dance lessons at Kellerman’s, their bodies wrapped around one another, undulating against each other. You felt a presence behind you, moving in time with your body. Turning to look over your shoulder, you saw Zach smiling at you. Had he known you would be here? You glanced at Heather who winked at you.

Zach’s hand tentatively touched your hips, pulling you closer to him. There was nothing stopping you from enjoying the attention. Nothing but the nagging feeling that you were doing something wrong. That you were somehow betraying _him. _Anger pushed through the haze of your buzz wrapping its tentacles around your guilt, pulling it into the depth of your mind. _He_ was the one that pushed you away. _He_ couldn’t tell you what to do anymore.

Willing your body to relax against Zach, you let him close what little distance between you there was. You swore even with the layers of denim between you, you could feel his erection pressing, grinding against you. Spinning around, you yelled, “I’m going to get another drink!”

Zach nodded and lead the way to the bar, ordering beverages for you both. Once they arrived, he handed one to you and raised his glass before taking a sip. You downed a large gulp. It did nothing to soothe your nerves and dull your frustration as the professor flashed in your mind once more. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, as angry as you were, you still wished he was there instead of the boy in front of you.

Heather threw her arms around you. “Hey! We’re gonna go ahead and go. Get some quality time before we don’t see each other for weeks. Do you want us to give you a ride home?” she shouted.

“No, I’ll be okay,” you reassured her.

She kissed your cheek, her voice in your ear when she spoke again. “You know, this means our room is going to be empty…all night.” She glanced at Zach who was watching the dance floor as he leaned back, his elbows propped on the bar. “Have some fun. Take some risks for once. What do you have to lose?”

“God, you sound like my mom. You go on and don’t worry about me.” You smiled as she waved hand in hand with the person she loved. You were happy for her, but that tiny part of you that was jealous latched on to your heart. Why couldn’t it be that easy for you?

Maybe it could. You grabbed Zach’s arm. “C’mon let’s dance.” Pulling him behind you, you pushed your way between bodies onto the dance floor. Zach circled around you, dancing in front of you, his leg making its way between yours as he ground against you. His hands roamed your sides before resting on your hips, one sliding to your ass. Bile immediately rose to your throat.

Breaking free from his grip, you shouted, “Bathroom.” Stumbling through the crowd, you saw the queue for the bathroom. Ten girls deep and moving at a snail’s pace. But just behind it, you saw your salvation. An emergency exit. 

The blast of cold air was welcome as you pushed through the door. You rested against the brick wall in the alley. What was wrong with you? Zach was good looking. He was nice. Why couldn’t you just enjoy his attention?

Because it felt wrong. It was wrong. The only hands you wanted on you had pushed you away. The person you really wanted didn’t want you back. But that didn’t stop you from wanting him. The thing was it had seemed like he did want you. Those days with him were the happiest you had ever been. Why had he ruined everything?

Pulling out your phone, you opened an app to call for a driver, and walked towards the front of the club, a hand steadying you against the wall with each tedious step. It was time to find out.

Steve slumped on the couch as the flames in the fireplace dance across the logs and looked at the stack of papers he needed to grade, knowing hers was in there. He flipped through each exam, searching for the booklet with her name on it. Finding it, he read her essay, admiring his girl’s penmanship knowing each stroke was made by her hand. But what truly impressed him was her thoughts. She had blossomed under his tutelage and done beautifully relaying facts as well as explaining their importance and the effects they had all on her own. He wrote an A on the first page. She really didn’t need him anymore.

She was going to move on. She was moving on according to her location at a local club. She was out dancing, having fun. He tried to calm the jealousy that bubbled in his gut when he thought of another man touching her. This is what she needed. To meet someone her age, who would, no doubt, give her the kind of life she had always truly wanted.

The car drove away down the long drive. You stared at the door. All the angry bravado that heated you, spurring you on, burning through you, had quelled. All you felt now was the cold wind cutting at your skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks.

You could call the car back. It wasn’t far yet. But what good would that do? You would always be left wondering. Wondering why. Wondering what if.

Before you could second or third or fourth guess yourself, you pressed the doorbell. Arms wrapped in a self-hug, your hands rubbed the back of your arms, trying to generate heat with friction and failing miserably. Just as you began to wonder if maybe he wasn’t home, the light in the foyer flicked on.

The door opened a crack, then swung open. You heard your name but couldn’t stop staring at Steve dressed in pajamas, a bathrobe tied at his waist, and brown leather slippers on his feet. Who in real life had real pajamas with a matching bathrobe? Only leading men from black and white movies did that…of course, he would. He was talking to you. You tried to concentrate on his mouth but his face, now covered with a beard was too distracting.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“Professor Steve,” you managed to slur, “I need to talk to you.” You placed your hands on your hips, swaying slightly.

“Are you drunk? Where the hell is your coat? Didn’t I tell you to start carrying a coat?”

“Can’t really dance in a coat, you know?” You chuckled and pointed your finger at him. “Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t know.” You shook your head. “It’s a shame you can’t dance.”

He grabbed your arm, pulling you inside. “Get in here before you freeze.” He took his bathrobe off, throwing it around your shoulders.

You shivered as his warmth surrounded you. Burying your nose in the color, you inhaled his scent. God, you had missed him.

He took you by your shoulders, marching you to the living room, standing you in front of the roaring flames in the fireplace. “Can’t believe you. Going out half-dressed, drinking, and god knows –”

Swirling around, you interrupted what you knew would be a scolding rant. “No! You don’t get to be mad at me. I’m mad at you!”

He stepped back, eyebrows raised. He crossed his arms waiting for you to continue.

“You have no right. No right to tell me what I can and can’t do after what you did.”

His stern presence softened momentarily before he stared at the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lost control. It won’t happen again I should never have—never have taken things so far. Pushing you to things you didn’t want.”

“How do you know what I want? How does anyone know what I want? No one ever asks me. They assume or they tell me.” You paced around the living room. Heart pounding, heat rising through your body. “My father never asked me what college I wanted to go to. He just chose one with a good pre-law program because that’s what he thinks I should go into. My mother never asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. She just assumed I should want to be a trophy wife like her. Going from one man to another.”

He watched you warily. His body tense, breath shallow as if he was holding it, waiting for something. “You should get to decide your future. To choose. That’s why I had to end whatever it was we had. You deserve to be with someone who won’t dominate your life. Who won’t want to control every detail of your day. Someone better. You’re too young to—"

You stopped behind the couch, turning to confront him. “No. For once, I get to decide what I want. I want to be with you. I want all of it. Knowing you care enough to overprotective and overbearing…” Tears welled in your eyes and your voice cracked. “I’ve never had that before. All I wanted, all I have ever wanted was to be safe and wanted. I have never felt as important and happy as I have when I’m with you. Who’s to say what we have is wrong?” Tears streamed down your face. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

Steve crossed the room. His fingers brushed against your cheeks, wiping away any dampness. Closing your eyes, you swayed against his touch. His arms scooped you up, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “Steve?” you questioned.

“Shhh.” He pressed his lips to your temple. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

He walked down the hall with you in his arms. You thought he would take you to the guest room, but he carried you over the threshold of his bedroom straight through to the bathroom.

“I want you showered and ready for bed in twenty minutes.”

He had made it to the door before you spoke again. “But Steve—”

“No buts. I said we would talk in the morning. I’m not having this conversation when you might change your mind or forget what you said. Get cleaned up. You smell like a bar and you’ll feel better washing all that off.”

He left you alone. Briefly wondering what would happen if you didn’t shower, you decided against tempting fate. He was right. It did feel good to wash the evening away. When you got out one of your shirts and a pair of your shorts were waiting for you by the sink. Tomorrow, you could start again clean. Fresh. New.

Steve couldn’t believe she was here again. Couldn’t believe what she had said. Had she meant any of it? Would she remember? He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but greed had already taken hold. He wanted her. Maybe more than anything he had ever wanted. And nothing was stopping him from having her. Not if what she said was true. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to let her go again.

The door to the bathroom cracked open, the light switching off as she walked through. Her eyes widened as she saw him sitting bed, waiting, a lamp on the nightstand casting a soft warm glow over the room. That adorable lost look he saw on the first day of class gracing her features. He hoped she’d always have a touch of that innocence.

“Come to bed,” he commanded gently, pulling back the covers.

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt before she slowly made her way to the edge of the bed and crawled under the sheets tucking them up to her chin.

Pulling her towards him, Steve draped his arm over her holding her covetously against his chest. He felt her tense in his arms. “Relax. We’re just sleeping. If you want to move to the guest room, you can. But I have dreamt of holding you like this for so long now. I don’t want to wait another night.”

Her body went lax as she snuggled in his embrace. “Me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Professor Rogers have a lot to discuss after your drunken confessions the previous night.

Leaning against the door frame, Steve stared into his room. Her body was splayed across the bed diagonally, small snores emanating from under the covers. He smiled to himself. She was still here, and she was real.

The last two weeks he had dreamed so many times of waking up next to her. He would do anything to keep her. Considering what he had been capable of in the past, that was a frightening thought. Infiltrating Nazi and Hydra bases seemed like child’s play compared to facing his emotions. This was uncharted territory.

He forced himself to stop staring. She wouldn’t disappear if he blinked. But she might have second thoughts if he was caught. Considering her state when she showed up last night, coffee would definitely be needed when she finally woke up. For now, he’d let her sleep.

Why? Why hadn’t you learned your lesson with drinking by now? Sunlight poured into the bedroom; your eyes resistant to your early attempts to open, relented as you remembered where you were. Sitting up, you ignored the tiny throb in your temples. The bed next to you was empty, but the sheets and blankets were crumpled. He had really slept with you in his arms last night.

Spying your phone on the nightstand, you grabbed it, automatically scanning the notifications on your lock screen. Zach had messaged you last night wondering where you had gone. The texts seemed to have gone from worried to irate in quick succession. Bullet dodged.

Bare feet padding along cold floors, you walked through the house peeking around corners expecting to see Steve in his office or maybe the living room, but the smell of coffee finally gave away his position.

The aroma of fresh ground surrounded you. The kitchen was bright but the lights paled in comparison to the smile he gave you. He poured you coffee in the red mug, your favorite, and set out the creamer and sugars for you.

You mumbled your thanks, putting your phone on the island, and fumbled to fix up your morning brew. How were you supposed to act now? The lines between you were so blurred.

“How do you feel this morning?” he asked, sipping from his cup.

The tinge of headache you had minutes earlier seemed to dissipate in his presence. “Better now.”

Steve set his coffee down. “Are we going to talk about you getting into a car with a total stranger while you were inebriated?”

The coffee stuck in your throat, and you struggled not to choke as you swallowed it down. You should have expected a scolding. Had you been capable of thinking ahead last night, you would have realized that he would be upset. You lifted your eyes to his and gave him your undivided attention.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” His arms crossed in front of his chest, his tight white shirt stretching dangerously against his muscles.

“Not as dangerous as me driving myself,” you muttered, taking a drink. His brows knitted together in a frown that you were sure was supposed to be intimating, but it just made you want to kiss the crinkle that appeared there.

“True. But in the future, I want you to call me if you need a ride. I don’t want anything happening to you.” He walked towards you, grabbed your hips, and easily lifted you to sit on the island countertop.

“The future?” You stared into his blue eyes, scared to blink.

Steve stepped closer, effectively spreading your legs. His hands rested on either side of your hips. “Do you remember what you said last night?”

You didn’t know whether you wanted to lean back to create some distance between you or wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Instead, all you did was whisper, “Yes.”

“Did you mean it?” His thumbs grazed your thighs playing with the hem of your shorts.

“Yes.” You had meant it. You wanted him. But did he want you? It seemed like he did, but would he push you away again?

“Then we have some things to talk about. Don’t we? We can’t go on the way we were—

“Why not?” you interrupted. He was going to do it again, wasn’t he?

His knuckles caressed your cheek tenderly, calming the panic that was rising within you. “It’s not enough. I don’t want stolen minutes with you. I don’t want to always have to hide and sneak around. I want you here with me, living with me, traveling with me, going out on dates with me. I want everything.”

“You want me to move in?” The thought of never having to live with your parents again almost made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. He wanted you. Really wanted you.

“Of course, I do. I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping somewhere else anymore. I was going to take a leave of absence to promote my book when it was finished, but I could do that early to finish it that way you could still attend school.”

“No, I should be the one to leave. I don’t even know what I want to do or study. Besides, if I moved in you with my dad would stop paying for school. I can’t exactly afford tuition.”

“I could pay your tuition. But if you wanted to take a gap year or two, travel the world with me…it might give you the time and maybe some experience to help you decide what it is you are interested in.”

“That sounds awfully benevolent and yet self-serving at the same time.”

“You’ll find that where you’re involved, I’m equally generous and greedy. I would give you everything if it meant keeping you all to myself.” Steve’s hands stroked your thighs.

Taking a depth breath, you asked the question you knew you needed to hear the answer to. Deserved to hear the answer to. “Then why did you push me away?”

He leaned back, hands retreating to his hips, his gaze fell to the floor, a pink heat coloring his cheeks. “I thought I was pushing you into something you didn’t want. I took it too far. Lost control. I thought you would be disgusted with me…I was. I thought it was better to end things…easier.”

“Easier for who?” you asked.

“I told myself it was for you. To protect you. But I was protecting myself too. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. Never cared for anyone…I thought that if I pushed you away,” he paused, struggling to get the words out. “If I pushed you away, you couldn’t reject me.”

“You’re telling me the big hero, Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, a supersized super soldier was scared I wouldn’t want him? You do realize how ridiculous that is, right? Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“I’ve never found a woman that truly wanted me. Captain America, sure. But they all left as soon as they found out they were with Steve Rogers, a man who desires control and order.”

“Safety and security.” You placed your hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“See? No one else would see it that way. It’s what makes you perfect me. It’s what makes us perfect.” He reached for you. Thumbs caressing your cheeks as he cradled your face.

Your lungs stopped, holding the air you inhaled hostage, while your heart tried to escape the prison of your rib cage. Your gaze fell to his lips. He leaned in, angling his head just right. So close. Eyes closing, you could feel the warmth of his skin, his lips whispered against yours.

A shrill chirping ripped you from your reverie. Your heads turned in tandem to the offending noise coming from your phone. One after another messages kept ringing in.

“See, this is why I always took this from you during work.” He took the phone and handed it to you. “Nothing but a nuisance.”

You scanned the messages and sighed. “It’s Heather. She’s gotta leave soon and wants to say bye before she goes.” If Heather knew what she was interrupting she would die; she might die anyway because you could kill her right now.

Steve took a step back, his hands falling to his sides, waiting for you to dismount. You hopped down off the counter and hesitated. What should you do? Why was everything so awkward? You knew you both wanted each other. Hell, you had just agreed to move in, right? Or had that not actually been settled?

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. Tentatively, you allowed yourself to hug him back. Breathing in his scent, your body relaxed against him.

“I want you to go, say your goodbyes, and then pack all of your things. Bring everything back here. We have all the time in the world to figure everything else out.” A soft kiss pressed against your forehead. Releasing you, he spun you around and gave you a little push.

In no time, you were back at your dorm wearing the same outfit from last night. The walk of shame, as they say, but you felt none. All you felt this morning was hope.

The shared dorm room already looked stark. With Heather’s bedding, clothes, and some personal effects going home with her for the next month and a half, her desk and bed were cleared, closet empty. It depressed you more than you expected.

“Hey there, naughty girl. Are you seriously just getting in? So, things went well with Zach? Give me all the details in the next, like, 10 minutes because I’ve gotta get on the road.” She laughed and pulled you into the room.

“I—uh—well, I did not go home with Zach.” Shit, you should have thought of an alibi. You couldn’t tell her where you were however if you said you couldn’t she would know for sure. What would happen if other people found out?

Heather’s eyes narrowed on you. “So where were you?”

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I took an Uber to Professor Rogers’ house and kind of yelled at him then he made me sleep there since I was drunk.”

“What?! You yelled at him then spent the night? You’re telling me you slept with Professor Rogers?”

“No! I did sleep at his house which does not leave us. But I didn’t sleep with him. I was drunk. He just made sure I was safe. I woke up, drank some coffee, and came back here.”

Heather let out a huff of air, rolling her eyes skyward. “Well that’s a huge disappointment. Why did you yell at him?” Her eyes stared, a glimmer of sadistic fascination danced within them.

“I don’t even really remember. I had too much to drink. Zach was getting too handsy and when I went outside to cool off, I kind of decided I was mad at everyone. I probably shouldn’t drink anymore.” You laughed weakly, hoping this would be enough to calm her down.

“Wow. How are you going to face him next semester? I would die,” Heather asked.

“Actually, I don’t know if I’m coming back. I think I might take some time off and figure out what I want to do that will make me happy…not my parents.”

Heather’s eyes widen. “Not coming back? Seriously?”

You nodded, eyes moving around the room. It was weird this wouldn’t be yours for much longer.

A shimmer of tears graced her lower lids. “What am I going to do without you?”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. They probably won’t even find you a replacement roommate. All this will be yours. Which means all the sleepovers you want.”

“Stop trying to sugarcoat this. I’m gonna miss you. Come here.” She opened her arms which you walked into, returning the hug in earnest.

“I’ll miss you too.” And surprisingly, you found that you meant it. Heather may not have always been the easiest to live with. The two of you were vastly different people, but she was your friend. She had always supported you in her own way. But your future wasn’t here.

Heather had left with a few more goodbyes and hugs, leaving you alone. Breaking down your side of the room was easier than setting it up, but it still took most of the day. You put everything in the plastic bins and flattened boxes you had stashed under your bed. Lugging everything to the car, you had made sure to clean and sweep the empty space so hopefully when Heather got back the dust bunnies weren’t the size of sewer rats. You were sweaty and tired but glad it was done.

The work of packing had offered you a chance to focus on something physical, concrete instead of the mess of emotions running through your brain. Any time you thought of Steve your stomach erupted in butterflies, rolling and flipping between excitement and anxiety. Having tasks was a reprieve from all the ways your brain would try to tell you what a mistake you were making.

Loading up the last of your belongings into your over-stuffed car, you headed to Steve’s home, your home.

Steve wrapped the cord of the vacuum around the pegs of the handle in the empty closet. He’d been cleaning the house all day. It had to be perfect. Her side of the closet was ready for her now. He had even cleaned out a few drawers in the dresser so she’d have room to put her things.

He’d never lived with another woman before. The Avenger’s Tower and Compound afforded everyone their own space with a few common areas. There was an adjustment period as everyone got used to respecting those common areas but there was never anyone in Steve’s personal space. His room and bathroom had been his and his alone. Now he was going to get to see her things mingle with his. Tangible evidence that she was his. His and hers.

Images of taking her shopping, filling her side of the closet with clothes consumed his thoughts. He would spoil her endlessly. Making sure this house felt like a home. Giving her the safety and comfort she had always desired. Anything to make her happy.

Or was he just rationalizing his own greed and selfishness? Would he ever be able to just be happy? To not feel as though his happiness was a weakness, that putting himself as a priority would cause chaos in the world around him?

Steve sighed. They both deserved happiness. He would get his through hers.

The faint sound of a car door slamming outside reached his ears. He paused in front of the bathroom mirror, shocked at the smile that had come so naturally to his usually austere face. Just another thing he would have to get used to.

You pulled up to the house. Popping the trunk and opening the back doors to your small car, you started taking bags, bins, and boxes out. The front door opened. Steve smiled and joined you on the driveway.

“Is this all?” he asked, surveying the contents you were unloading.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t really have a lot of room in the dorm. So, this is it.” You slung a bag over your shoulder, ready to be done. At this point, you’d be willing to throw all your stuff in a bonfire rather than unpack it.

Picking up two plastic bins, he asked, “Do you have more at your parents’ we need to go get?”

You shrugged. “Not really.” Were you supposed to have more? You had never really had a space to call your own so the desire to accumulate things had never really manifested. And anything you did want to keep, found its way to the dumpster as soon as your mother had a chance.

It took the two of you no time to unload the car. Standing in your new closet, your clothes barely covered a fraction of the wooden bars that stretched across the perimeter of the room. It was a sad realization that your life couldn’t even fill a walk-in closet.

“We’ll have to go shopping,” Steve said, turning in a circle as he surveyed the space he could fill. “And we’ll redecorate, you can pick out what you like.”

Decorating? Was he going to expect some expert housewife? Would you have to learn to decorate and host parties with trays of jellied hors d’oeuvres? 

“I wouldn’t even know what to get. My mom always wanted to be able to pretend my room was a guest room and at my dad’s house I actually did sleep in the guest room on the rare occasions I was invited to stay. I don’t want to ruin your house.”

He stepped towards you, taking your hands in his. “Our house. I’m not attached to anything here—except maybe the office. It’s the only room I helped picked things out for. Everything else a professional decorated. We can hire an interior decorator to help you figure out what styles you like.”

That was somewhat of a relief. This would be the first time you would be able to make a space of your own. “What about what you like?”

He pulled you into an embrace. “As long as you don’t paint this house hot pink, I think I can manage.”

“Well, there goes my Barbie Dream House vision. Whatever shall I do now?” you said with mock disappointment.

He chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re a smart girl, but I have some ideas on ways to make it up to you.” Steve slipped his hand in yours and pulled you into the bathroom.

The air around you seemed to change with the husky dip in his voice. “You do?” You watched as he reached into the shower and turned the knobs, all the streams of water start spraying in unison. You’d only ever used the overhead nozzle that made the water fall like a rain shower. It had seemed excessive to turn on the jets lining the sides of the tiled walls for only you.

You felt your jaw slacken when he pulled his shirt over his head. As his fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, you realized this was, in fact, going to happen. Fantasy would become reality. You would know what he felt like, tasted like. No more frustrated nights thinking of him while laying alone in the dark.

Steve undressed the two of you slowly, each layer falling to the floor, fingertips grazing your skin as he unhooked your bra, and pulled your panties down. Standing in front of him was intimidating, to say the least. He looked as though he could have been cut from marble.

You could feel all your insecurities rising. Would he find you attractive? Would you disappoint him in any way? How could you not? He was and always would be Captain America. The Golden Boy of the greatest generation and the embodiment of physical perfection.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. You are so beautiful.”

Not realizing you had been squeezing them shut, you blinked and focused on the solid chest in front of you as he guided you into the shower. You wanted this so much, dreamed of it. 

Water ran down his body. How many times had you wanted to touch him as he greeted you at the door, glistening from a workout? The warm water enveloped you. Reaching out, you let your hand follow the curves of his muscular physique. The fluttering in your stomach abated a bit as evidence of his feelings swelled between his legs.

Steve squeezed some body wash into his hands, rubbing them together until bubbles formed. “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

Steam swirled through the air, condensation running down the tiles as you placed each hand on the wall. Your heart raced with anticipation, wondering what would happen next. Bracing yourself, you tensed then relaxed as his hands slid up your back creating a slippery layer of soap. His hands lathered the soap over your shoulders and all the way down to your hips. His hands glided over your backside, squeezing your thighs, spreading your cheeks slightly. He knelt behind you, his hands wandering up and down each leg until a foamy layer ran down them, gathering around your toes.

Standing again, Steve’s arms wrapped around you, hands skimming the tops of your thighs, so close to parts of you already aching, up your abdomen until he cupped each breast with his hands. He massaged them in tandem, thick fingers amazingly dexterous as he pinched and rolled each nipple to hard points. 

“Turn around,” he commanded. 

Turning in his arms, he lifted you easily, your arms wrapping around his neck. His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them until you hooked your ankles behind his back. Rocking against his hard length, your clit ached, yearning for more pressure, more friction, more…

Steve’s moan vibrated against your lips. “If I don’t put you down, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

“Then don’t stop.” You trailed kisses against his clenched jaw.

The growl in his chest rumbled against you as he set you down, both of you covered in bubbles that had built up between you. “Rinse off,” was all he said as he splashed water onto his face and body, making sure he was clean. 

You watched the white foam swirling around the drain, waiting. It took all your willpower not to reach out and stroke his cock, to see him lose control, but part of you wanted your first time with him to be slow and drawn out.

Steve turned the water off and grabbed two towels, draped one around your shoulders and the other around his waist. 

“My eyes are up here,” he said as he watched her eyes travel down his body, her teeth catching her bottom lip. 

Chagrined and irresistibly cute, she worked on rubbing the towel over her body. He couldn’t help but gaze himself as he watched her drying herself.

Wrapping the towel around her chest, her eyebrows raised. “My eyes are up here.”

The smiled that played across her lips was too much. He grabbed her towel, quickly tugging her towards him. His mouth met hers as she stumbled forward. He expected her to be surprised, to tense at the sudden contact, but she melted against him. Her mouth relaxed, opening slightly, welcoming and inviting him to deepen the kiss. She was perfect. Perfect at testing his self-control. He’d had to fight for dominance with every other woman in his past but not her. Her sweet vulnerability drove him to his breaking point. It was as terrifying as it was tantalizing.

She deserved more than him taking her in a fit of lust against a cold tile wall. Deserved a warm bed. To be teased and touched and tasted, slowly and meticulously. To be turned into a dripping, desperate mess beneath him, begging him for the release only he could give her.

Breaking the kiss once more, he whispered, “Go lay down on the bed.” He needed a minute to calm down and the anticipation would only heighten their experience. Slow and steady.

You laid on the bed, not knowing exactly what he wanted you to do. Hiding under the covers, you rested against a pillow and waited. You could feel the wetness that gathered between your legs. The pulsing ache of your clit. You wanted him but were terrified of disappointing him. Was there something he liked you should do? Was there something you shouldn’t do? What if he wanted something weird?

“Roll over.” Steve leaned against the door frame, boxer briefs hanging dangerously low on his waist.

Tossing the pillow to the side, you rolled over, laying on your stomach. Was he going to spank you? Oh god, what if he was into something harder than spanking? Whips? Chains? Was he going to 50 shades you? You didn’t even have a safe word.

The blankets were pulled off your body. The mattress dipped as he climbed over you, his knees straddling your hips. Looming over you, he whispered in your ear, “Relax. Trust me.”

His hands skimmed your shoulders, goosebumps rippled down your arms. His fingers kneaded your muscles. Your body immediately relaxed, allowing Steve to work the tension along your spine. A groan caught in your throat as his thumb circled over a knot working the spot in a mix of pleasure and pain as the stiffness melted away.

Steve moved down your body, trapping your thighs between his as he manipulated the muscles of your lower back. You could feel him, hovering. All it would take was a slight arch of your back, to press against him.

As soon as your hips lifted, a swift swat landed on your thigh. “No.”

That one word was all it took to make your body squirm. Made you want to move more, rubbing against him, feeling him get hard against you. But you held still, fighting against your instincts. This wasn’t some rushed high school date trying to squeeze in as much as you could before curfew. Taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to enjoy the massage and ignore the need building in your body. There would be time for all of that later.

Steve chuckled to himself. He’d barely begun, and she was already showing signs of breaking. And he wanted her to break. Wanted her begging beneath him. Writhing with need. To see her undone, would be one of the most beautiful things he’d ever witness. To know that he was the one that put her in that state, that he controlled her pleasure, would finally give him all he ever wanted. Everything after that was more than he could have ever dreamed of.

He lifted himself off of her, standing on the floor at the edge of the bed, his hands never leaving her. He grabbed her backside, kneading the flesh, spreading the cheeks slightly before moving lower to her thighs. Starting at her knees, he worked his way up the length of her legs, his fingers tips dipping between them, dangerously close to her pussy as he manipulated her muscles. He let his fingertip graze against her, heat radiating from her core. How hot, how wet would she get?

Up and down the length of her legs, he let his hands roam, from the top of her thighs to the tips of her toes. Needy little moans, pressed into the mattress, grew louder with every touch of his fingers between her thighs. 

When her back arched; he pressed her hips back down. When she subtly inched her legs further apart, granting him easier access; he pushed her ankles back together and started again from her shoulders, working back down until her body shook with anticipation and her moans had melded into frustrated whines.

Your skin felt hot. Every inch feverish. You’d yet to make it more than a few minutes without moving, without your body reacting to his touch, needing more. Every attempt to goad him into progressing his attentions was met with a frustrating restart. “Please,” you finally pleaded.

The sound of fabric hitting the floor sounded the removal of his boxers. He climbed back on the bed, hands gripping your hips, flipping you over onto your back. “Please, what?” he asked.

Thoughts jumbled; words scattered in your brain as you reached for them in the haze of your mind. “I need…” You moaned as he spread your legs. All thought left as you laid exposed before him.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked, lowering himself between your legs. He pressed a kiss to your right thigh then nipped at the left. “Is this what you need?” His breath playing across the sensitive juncture sent shivers through your body.

Your answer caught in your throat as his tongue swept through your slit but lifted before reaching your clit. His tongue traced the around your pussy, through your folds, his beard scraping against your thighs, always avoiding the one place you needed him to touch. You angled your hips seeking to guide him and only succeeding in him stopping altogether.

His teeth grazed your leg, his voice vibrating against your skin. “Little girl, the quicker you realize you are not in control, the faster you get what you want…”

A frustrated growl earned you a quick nip. Didn’t he understand that your body was on fire? Didn’t he know that you ached? Your desires bringing you to edge of pain?

The way he lazily licked through your delicate flesh once more, his eyes catching yours, daring you to move, answered your questions. He did know. He wanted you to burn. He was purposefully denying you, waiting for you to give in, to give him full control over you.

The minute your body relaxed and your legs fell to the sides, his lips encircled your bundle of nerves. Your fingers twisted in the sheets below you, back arching off the mattress. You were already so close.

He hungrily feasted between your legs as though starved. Moans rent the air as he slid a finger then two into your slick entrance. His fingers stroked your walls, curling and pumping as his mouth sucked and licked your clit. Your body stiffened as it climbed ever higher, ever closer to that peak you longed to fall off of. Then he was gone. All sensations ceased.

Blinking you looked up at him, kneeling between your spread legs. His hand stroked his length as the other wiped the glistening wetness from his chin. He crawled over your body, planting his hands on either side of your head.

Damning the consequences, or maybe welcoming them, you pulled him down, arms wrapping around his neck. His blues eyes dark and dilated, drinking you in before his mouth crashed down on yours. Tongues curled around each other; teeth nipped at bottom lips. Remaining passive was no longer an option. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you swallowed the growl that rumbled from his throat as he lined himself up with your dripping cunt.

You expected him to plunge into the hilt without warning. Taking what he wanted. Taking what you offered. Instead, he worked his cock one shallow thrust at a time, filling and stretching you slowly, inch by inch, building up the pressure between your legs once more, until he filled you completely. Fingernails raked his shoulders, a fine mist of sweat glittered your body as it shook, anticipating the release he would finally give you. Your feet dropped to the mattress, heels digging into the sheets trying to gain leverage, hoping to encourage his movement despite his warning.

“God, you feel so good. So perfect.” He peppered kisses along your neck. His hips pulled back, his hand reached between you, fingertips circling your clit, as a strong thrust rocked your body. Again and again, he snapped his hips, driving himself deep inside you, his fingers never relenting. “I wanna feel you come. Come. Now.”

His command was your undoing. Your muscles tightened, constricting around him as waves of pleasure undulated through your body. Gasping for breath, you had barely any time to recover before he quickened his pace. Your body responded in kind. Heat and tension building once more.

“Again.”

A second orgasm crashed over you. The noises issuing around you sounded foreign but the rawness in your throat confirmed they came from you. Prolonging your spasm, he followed you over the edge with a few more thrusts. Your body lax beneath, completely spent, his body quaked with aftershocks.

Rolling to off you, he pulled you against him. His lips pressed against your crown. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

Snuggling into his chest, your hand roamed his sides marveling at the softness of his skin and the hard muscles underneath. You wanted nothing more than to stay just like this forever. Your stomach, however, had other ideas. A loud growling issued between you.

Propping himself up on his elbow, brows knitted in consternation, Steve looked down at you. “Did you eat today?”

Damn. “I forgot. I was just so busy trying to get back here.”

Steve muttered something about responsibility and repercussions as he left the room, returning wearing pajama pants and carrying a shirt and shorts for you. Dressing you swiftly, he threw you over his shoulder swatting your backside as he carried you to the kitchen. He plopped you down in a seat and turned to the kitchen gathering plates and ingredients. You watched as he crafted you a sandwich and set it in front of you.

You smiled and took a bite. All you had ever wanted was someone to care about you. To care for you. Never in your wildest dreams on that first day of class could you have imagined that someone being Professor Rogers.

Steve grabbed a new notebook and sat across the table from her as she ate. He started scribbling a new story. One just for him. A tale of loss, love, and ultimately redemption. With her, he would have a chance at the life he had long given up on. A life fulfilled not by grand acts of heroism that saved countless lives but with small daily reminders that he was loved and worthy of love outside of his uniform. The fountain pen scratched at the paper, looping his letters together. As much as everyone would assume he saved her, plucking her out of relative obscurity; she had saved him.

**Author’s Note- **Ok, kiddos…that’s it. We’ve only got a short epilogue left. If you enjoyed it please let me know. I can’t believe I’ve been writing this for almost a year. Thanks so much to everyone who has followed and read. I really appreciate your patience and dedication to this story!

**Author's Note:**

> So I went to a very small university like almost 20 years ago. My high school had more students. All of my knowledge of college life is based on that so keep that in mind and just remember I had a class with 9 people in it one semester. lol.


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